


Of Monsters and Men

by Jammingjackelopes



Series: Affairs-Verse [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Divergent Timelines, Emotional Constipation, F/F, F/M, Father Reyes, Hanzo has some kinks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder Husbands, Romance, Self-indulgent fluff, Shameless Smut, Werewolf Jesse McCree, Yakuza Hanzo Shimada, dark and serious topics, mother ana, sex is the cure all for everything?, yes the title is ripped from the band
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-28 20:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8462314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jammingjackelopes/pseuds/Jammingjackelopes
Summary: The trials and tribulations of the past pave the way for the future. In the end, it is who is there to catch you that matters the most. (Direct continuation of "A Strange Affair").





	1. Year 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of the first in the series “A Strange Affair,” and I highly recommend reading that before this piece considering there will be many reference points to the series of events that happened prior. 
> 
> This verse will be a bit more free-form, and so there will more chapters to this than the previous series. It will cover the in between years from when Jesse McCree left Japan to the marriage to the events following until we finally hit canon timelines (chapters will more than likely be broken by each subsequent year). Expect a lot of self-indulgent McHanzo action, because I’m a total sucker for it. More relationships will be added to the tags along the way. Kudos and comments are appreciated. Please enjoy!

Jesse loved the desert. Most people found the heat too overwhelming, the sun too searing, but he _thrived_ on it. His tan skin didn’t burn so easily, and sometimes there was nothing more rewarding than working up a good sweat out in the good old outdoors. 

But this kind of heat was nigh unbearable. He was a creature of dry heat, not this sweltering humidity that felt like slow suffocation. The sun had already set for god’s sake, and the stifling moisture had barely eased. 

He groans, his voice blurred by the blades of the fan turned up in front of his face. “So why is it again that you don’t have air conditioning?” 

“Because it is too easy for someone to sabotage the units and fill it with poison,” Hanzo says calmly, his skin slightly damp, but all in all, unperturbed by the weather. “Or at least that’s what the theory is,” he says. He was dressed in a light summer kimono, but the sash was loosely tied and the top half was falling off his shoulders. It was messy looking, but Hanzo did not seem to care.

“Fuck the theory, this is torture. And you have to go through this _every year_?” Jesse whines.

“It builds character,” is Hanzo’s bemused response. Truly he has never seen Jesse brought so low. He had stripped down to just his briefs and had collapsed in front of the fan. His chest hair was lightly fluffed from the moisture in the air, and he was covered in a sheen of sweat. Hanzo discretely admired the bunched muscles of Jesse’s abdomen as he shifted around. “Were you not complaining about the chill in Russia? If I recall, you said better give you the heat. Well here is your heat.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t the type of heat that I meant,” Jesse says. He rolls over onto his front and grimaces when he feels his skin unstick from the mat. “Is there still any ice in the bucket?”

Hanzo slides it over. Most of the ice had already melted. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing when Jesse promptly plops his face into it, the droplets of cold water splashing onto the floor. He looked more like a dehydrated dog than a fearsome wolf. 

“Unfortunately there is little I can do about the weather. I hope that you do not regret coming,” Hanzo says when Jesse had yet to pull his face out of the basin. Jesse turns his head to the side and a warm brown eye alights on him. 

“Darlin’, I’d go through a hundred of these to be with you,” Jesse says. “Don’t take my bitching and moaning too seriously. It’s like an old man yelling at a cloud.”

Heat or not, Hanzo was looking positively ravishing. His silky hair was tied up high, and the shoulders of his sleeves had slipped down into the crook of his elbows. The sweat on his smooth chiseled chest made the extensive blue dragon tattoo gleam under the artificial light. The tattoo looked almost alive as the body of the dragon moved with Hanzo’s light breaths. 

Jesse grinned. He had an idea and he hoped Hanzo would like it. He had personal leave for a few weeks before he had to go back. This was day number two in Japan, and not only was he revelling in being able to see Hanzo in the flesh again, but the sight of him made Jesse _thirsty_. 

Hanzo was startled from his light reading when a cold mouth descended upon the junction between his neck and shoulder. A teasing cold tongue edged its way up his neck and sharp teeth nipped at his earlobe. 

“Ice?” Hanzo said. He heard the clicks of the cubes behind Jesse’s teeth. 

“Mm hmm,” Jesse hummed, easing the summer kimono lower, his wandering heated palms searing Hanzo’s skin through the light cloth. Hanzo leaned back against Jesse’s strong chest and spread his legs when his right hand slipped between the V of his robes and palmed him underneath. 

Jesse’s left hand eased around his chest to pinch at his nipple. It would still take some time getting used to the cybernetic replacement, but at least it wasn’t unpleasant. The metal felt much cooler than his flesh hand, and the contrast in temperature was interesting. 

Hanzo moaned as Jesse continued to suckle his neck and shoulders, that wide mouth heating up on his skin. The ice had completely melted. “No marks,” Hanzo warns when Jesse gives a particularly hard suck, but tilts his head back anyway to roll against Jesse’s shoulder.

“There’s something I want to try with you,” Jesse’s says, his panting hot breaths heating up Hanzo’s ear. “Lean forward.” Hanzo ground against the growing hardness against his backside. Jesse growled and nipped him harder, and thrusted against his back. Jesse lost himself for a moment as they rutted against each other, Hanzo egging him on with the seductive roll of his hips, before he came back to himself and said, “Oh, so you want to play it that way huh?” Hanzo felt his breath leave him as Jesse manhandled him by the hips, lifting him up and pushing him forcibly onto his arms and knees. 

It made Hanzo’s face burn with embarrassment, but he loved this feeling of being out of control, of having someone like Jesse completely take the rein out of his hands. He didn’t have to think, his mind allowed to rest in its constant calculations, and just accept whatever Jesse gave him. It was shamefully arousing. 

The bottom half of his kimono was roughly pushed up and over, and Hanzo felt the precum drip from the tip of his cock as Jesse pushed him down lower so that his ass was tilted higher into the air. Jesse put his mouth around his cheek and sucked hard, and gnawed at the flesh between his mouth. It was painful and would certainly leave a mark he would feel the next day, but it felt so _good_ and Hanzo desired it, to feel Jesse’s mark on him throughout the next day whenever he sat or shifted. 

“Jesse…” Hanzo stuttered out as Jesse leaned back to admire his handiwork. His hands kneaded the flesh of his cheeks and spread them wide. Hanzo bucked with a startled cry as he felt a cold wetness touch the ring of his entrance. 

“What, ah,” he cried, “what are you doing?”

“You’re so hot baby, and I just wanted to help cool you down,” Jesse said cheekily, more ice clinking behind his teeth. “Hold on tight, because I’ve just started.” 

Hanzo’s fingers clenched around the edges of his rucked up garment as Jesse’s cold tongue pushed past the ring and pushed the quickly melting ice into him. The wet slurping noise of Jesse drinking the melted water out of him was absolutely obscene. 

“What a dishonorable act,” Hanzo gasps out as Jesse’s tongue plunges deep into him and eats him out in earnest. Those strong hands gripped him by the cheeks and Hanzo could not contain his hitched moans as his hips uncontrollably pushed itself back onto Jesse’s hot searching mouth. There was no more ice, just pure molten heat. 

Hanzo buried his face into his forearms and let Jesse completely consume him, all thoughts fleeing from his mind, only the sensation of Jesse’s bristly face scraping against his sensitive skin and his vulgar mouth opening him up. 

Jesse slides out his tongue and laves it all over the perineum. Hanzo hears the click of the lube bottle and the wet sound of Jesse stroking it onto himself. 

“Oh _Hanzo_ , you always burn me up so bad,” Jesse rumbles as he slides off his underwear completely and puts his aching slicked up cock between Hanzo’s cheeks and squeezes them together. 

“Move, darlin,” Jesse commands, his voice dark and full of lust. 

Hanzo braces his knees further apart and moves up and down. Jesse feels the sweat drip down his brow as he took in the image, Hanzo bent over, the flex of his strong back, not even completely undressed yet, and those firm lush cheeks stroking his cock with eagerness. What an amazing sight, and so worth the long months of waiting. 

Hanzo felt used and so _desperate_ for more. He ground up against Jesse’s wet cock. “Give me more,” he murmurs into his forearm. He had yet to lift up his burning face. “I want more.” 

“Condom?” Jesse asks, the tip of the thick head hot against Hanzo’s twitching hole. 

“Too late, want you _now_ ,” Hanzo says, past the point of caring. Jesse had worked him up too much and he needed to be filled. Hanzo was ready to turn around and take what he needed if Jesse was going to continue hesitating when the head of his cock abruptly pushed past his entrance. 

“ _Ahh_ ,” Hanzo gasped loudly. Jesse’s thorough tongue had softened him some, but truly he should’ve been stretched out more. Nevertheless, the pain did not wilt his arousal, and if anything, it made the dragons hungrier. 

“Alright darlin’?” Jesse pants wildly. Hanzo was so goddamn tight and it took everything he had to not just spear him all at once. Jesse blinks away the sweat stinging his eyes. Hanzo has ruined sex for him with anyone else. No one could compare to the sight of this prideful man, so normally full of control and poise, completely wrecked and begging to be fucked like a shameless slut. They had enough late night masturbation talks for Jesse to understand Hanzo’s unspoken kink. 

“More,” Hanzo begs, already adjusting to Jesse’s girth. He was so _big_. The heat and weight of it was so much more fulfilling than all those long months of Hanzo’s own searching fingers. 

Jesse gives a dark chuckle and places his right hand flat between Hanzo’s shoulder blades and pushes down _hard_. He hears the rapid pulse of Hanzo’s heart, the rush of blood, but more importantly, Hanzo’s delighted gasp. 

Jesse thrusts. Hanzo bites his arm to hold back the uncontrollable noises being pulled out of him, unable to move due to the pressure placed on his back. He was completely immobilized, and was forced to take it as Jesse’s cock pushed in and out, the tip slamming against his prostate over and over again without mercy. It sent electric chills all over his body as he rocked against Jesse. 

“You like this don’t you? You like being my whore?” Jesse’s deep voice taunts him. His hand pushes down even harder. Such inhuman strength his wolf possessed. 

“You’ll let me do whatever I want to you, and you’ll take it like my good little slut,” Jesse whispers to him as the pace of his thrusts increase. Hanzo’s world had narrowed to this one moment, and he heard nothing but his own desperate pants and Jesse’s silky voice filling his ears. 

“Do you want to come baby?” Jesse says sweetly, sliding in as deep as he could, all the way to the base, and stops. 

No, don’t stop, Hanzo almost begs. He was ashamed by how badly he wanted to beg. He tries to push back but the hand on his back denied him. Hanzo was so hard that it was painful. 

“You got to say the magic words if you want to come,” Jesse says, and rolls his hips in encouragement. The low moan forced out of Hanzo was intoxicating. But he didn’t hear that sweet word. Jesse could be patient when he needed to. 

And so Jesse waited, rolling his hips over and over again until finally Hanzo broke. 

“P-please…” Hanzo whispers shakily. 

“What was that?” Jesse asks, pleased, and gives a hard encouraging thrust. “I didn’t quite hear you.”  
“Please,” Hanzo repeats, finding his voice. “ _Onegai_ , let me come.” 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Jesse says. In one smooth controlled motion, he lifts Hanzo up as Jesse rolled back, and without his cock ever leaving Hanzo’s ass, he plants his lover firmly onto his lap. Hanzo gave a startled cry as he was maneuvered without warning, suddenly upright with Jesse’s throbbing cock still in him. His kimono had slipped completely off. 

Jesse took Hanzo’s trembling hands and wrapped them around his leaking cock. “Play with yourself. Show me how much you want to come,” he says as he leaned back onto his hands to enjoy the show. 

Hanzo’s entire body shuddered as he braced his spread knees against the floor and impaled himself onto Jesse’s cock while pulling at his own hardness. He could feel Jesse’s hot gaze rove over him, soaking up the sight of his desperation, his wanton lust and shameful need. 

Jesse did nothing to assist, and watched Hanzo unravel by fucking himself on Jesse’s cock and stroking himself faster and faster, pulling at the head. Jesse felt his balls tighten. He wasn’t going to last like this. 

He wrapped a hand around Hanzo’s throat and squeezed. “Come,” he commands. 

Hanzo’s entire body freezes as he comes hard without a sound, thick spurts pumping out of his cock all over his stomach and chest, squelching around his fisted hand. His body slumps against Jesse’s chest as Jesse wraps a powerful arm around him and gives several more thrusts into his limp body before letting out a strangled groan as he found his own release. 

Hanzo had nearly blacked out, and there were dark spots in his vision still as he felt the heat of Jesse’s release coat his insides. He felt dirty and tainted, covered in copious amounts of sweat, come, and saliva and he _revelled_ it. 

“Fuck,” Jesse curses, his hot open mouth leaving wet kisses all over the side of Hanzo’s face. Hanzo turns his head to the side and they share a deep tired kiss, their tongues slick against each other. Hanzo tries not to think upon where that mouth had previously been. No need to ruin the moment. 

“You want me to lift you off?” Jesse says, all sweet consideration. Much different from how domineering he was while they fucked. “What can I do for you darlin’?” 

Hanzo squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, relaxing further into Jesse’s solid arms. Jesse had already gone soft in him and the come leaking out of him was uncomfortable, but he didn’t feel ready to move yet. 

“A moment, please,” Hanzo says, as his breathing returned slowly to normal. Jesse hums deeply against his head and his hands roamed all over his sticky chest, collecting the drying fluid between his fingers. 

As Jesse hummed his pleasant melody, Hanzo intimately felt the vibrations emanating from his barrel chest. 

“If you called me such degrading names in any other circumstance, I would’ve put an arrow through your head,” Hanzo says, desiring to make a distinction clear. 

Jesse smiled against Hanzo’s throat. “I know, darlin’,” he says. 

As with so many things, Jesse understood what Hanzo meant implicitly. His trust in Jesse was not unfounded. Truly if anyone else tried doing what Jesse had just done, Hanzo would’ve seen red and flat out murdered them for their audacity. But just as Jesse had promised him that there would be no one else, there would be no one else for Hanzo either. Too much blood had been spilled between them already, and Jesse’s sacrifice would forever be instilled in Hanzo’s heart. 

Hanzo’s skin itched and his face pulled into a moue of distaste. “A bath is required,” he said, tapping at the arm wrapped around him. Jesse kisses him chastely on the forehead and slips out. Hanzo felt the rush of come drip out as soon as he was unseated, and Jesse’s calloused fingers quickly pressed against his hole. 

“Turn around and hold onto me,” Jesse said. With weak legs, Hanzo turned so that he was facing his lover and wrapped his arms over his shoulder as Jesse lifted them both effortlessly off the floor, one hand tight around Hanzo’s waist and the other keeping the come from making a mess on the floor. Hanzo did not like the idea of being carried like a child, but at the moment he could not bring himself to care. His jellied legs would not have allowed him to walk on his own anyway. 

It had taken some time for Jesse to get why the hell there was a shower head installed outside of the bathtub, but now that this particular cultural style of bathing was more familiar, he actually appreciated it. 

Jesse set Hanzo down on the low wooden stool as he went to the tub to see if there was water in it. It was filled and still warm from last night. 

Hanzo had already reached for the showerhead and soap and was cleaning himself off. When Hanzo was done, Jesse did the same. 

Once they had washed everything off to Hanzo’s satisfaction, Jesse helped Hanzo into the deep tub first before slipping behind him. They both sighed with pleasure as the heat of the water enveloped them. 

“I’m totally digging this whole bathing culture ya’ll have,” Jesse says. The feel of Hanzo’s wonderful ass against him made his cock twitch, but Jesse ignored it. Hanzo would be displeased if he dirtied the soaking water. 

Hanzo didn’t respond, already drifting, his head listing under Jesse’s chin. Honestly the awful humidity was still there, but being in the water helped. Although he would’ve preferred a cold bath, Jesse felt better all in all, especially with a sated dragon lying in his arms. 

 

\----

 

Jesse did not expect Hanzo to drop his entire schedule for his arrival, nor would Hanzo be able to even if he wanted to. He knew that Hanzo did his best to clear as much time as possible for him, and that Hanzo worked on all the little things that could be done ahead of time while Jesse was sleeping. He appreciated the effort, he truly did. He even caught Hanzo working hard at the ungodly hour of four in the morning one time with the lamp on and had to convince him with kisses to come back to bed. 

The Shimada-gumi was a working business. It wasn’t all about breaking kneecaps and lopping off fingers, territorial disputes and gang wars. The yakuza operated like a corporation, and although they had hundreds of minions to operate parts of the business, it still required the heads of it to oversee that everything was going smoothly, that all the small moving parts were working perfectly in tandem. 

As the future heir, Gotoh had been designating more of those responsibilities onto Hanzo’s shoulders. And Hanzo had a knack for it. But it wasn’t all paperwork and balancing manpower. On occasion, Hanzo’s assassination skills were called for, and Jesse considered himself lucky to see it first hand.

A week had already passed when the execution orders were given. “Now that Talon’s presence seems to have diminished after you destroyed their bases, many other factions have risen to take the place of all those that have disappeared,” Hanzo explains. “A vacuum of power was left, and although we consumed most of it, there were other parts that were already claimed.” 

He had changed into his battle attire, a shadowy _kyudo-gi_ with intricate dragons stitched into the sleeve and tied together with a deep blue _obi_. He also donned black _hakama_ pants that were tucked into form fitting metal plated boots. A utility pouch was strapped around his waist over the _obi_ and his hair was tied high with a thin silky yellow scarf decorated with stylized clouds. Jesse admired Hanzo’s form as he pulled on a customized archer glove onto his shooting hand and tucked the sleeves in. As was the style of the _kyudo-gi_ , his entire left side was entirely bare (“for freer movement to not compromise my aim”), the dragon tattoo openly displayed. The attire itself was immaculate, dangerous-looking and gorgeously designed—it suited him. 

“Do you usually run these missions alone?” Jesse asks as Hanzo checked the tensile strength of Stormbow’s string and examined his various arrowheads. Hanzo had already put on the specialized contacts to see the heat signatures shown by his sonic arrows in case he had to use them. 

“Yes,” Hanzo says. “Quiet efficiency is the purpose of this. Too many people draw attention, and guns are too loud.” 

“Darlin’, with what you’re wearing, you draw attention,” Jesse purrs, prowling around Hanzo like a predator circling its prey. “You look damn good.”

Hanzo preens under Jesse’s appraising gaze. “I will draw attention only if I am spotted. And I assure you,” he says, stepping into Jesse’s space and lifting his head up so that he could speak against Jesse’s lips, “No one will ever know that I was there.” 

Hanzo dances away when Jesse leaned forward to capture his mouth for a kiss. “You tease,” Jesse says, desire plain on his face. “Will you let me help you undress later?”

A laugh answers his question. “Your clumsy fingers would ruin it,” Hanzo says. “If you are good and remain unseen, then I will reward you with something else.” 

Jesse shoots Hanzo a wicked grin. “Oh darlin’, I’m one of Reyes’ top agents for a reason. I can be smoke on the wind if I want to.” He knew Hanzo was taking a risk by allowing Jesse to come with. He wouldn’t be following Hanzo into the compound, but he would be in the area, listening and watching from a distance. He’d know when Hanzo was done. 

Hanzo slung the leather strap with the quiver around him and picked up the composite bow. It was two in the morning. Most normal people would be asleep now, and the city was quiet and dark. The perfect time for a mark to die. 

Jesse had dressed as simply as he could in black pants and a long sleeved black shirt to cover his metal arm. Nothing Hanzo said could convince Jesse to forgo the new “tacky” (“It describes me!” Jesse had vehemently argued) BAMF belt. Hanzo didn’t bother trying to convince Jesse to remove the cowboy hat—it was such a part of Jesse to the point where he would probably be buried with it on his head. 

He admired Hanzo’s skill when he effortlessly scaled the high smooth walls surrounding a fancy penthouse. The guards patrolling the area did not see a thing. Just in case there were guard dogs, Jesse kept downwind. He had found a vantage point on top of a large scale building and watched through the high powered binoculars Hanzo had loaned him. 

It was weird putting contacts in his eyes, but he could appreciate the crazy tech woven into it when he was able to see the red heat signature of Hanzo’s form as he disappeared into the complex. Hanzo had deliberately activated a sonic arrow on himself so that Jesse could observe. The range on the transmission was insane, Jesse thought to himself. High grade tech indeed. 

Sometimes he wondered if Hanzo was part spider. That would explain his superhuman climbing capabilities and the angles he managed to hold himself at with steadiness. Right now he saw the red outline of Hanzo hanging upside down, and him pulling the bow string back. 

Jesse could hear in his head the barely audible whistle of a high speed arrow displacing the air and the soft _thwack_ as it hit its mark. More than likely a headshot for a quick clean kill. He remembered clearly how easily those arrows pierced through thick bastion armor. Shooting it through a human skull was probably like shooting it through an overripe melon. 

Just as quickly as Hanzo had infiltrated the area, he left with no one knowing the better except for Jesse. The place was crawling with overnight security and surveillance cameras, and Jesse knew with certainty that Hanzo had avoided them all. No alarms rang. The corpse would be discovered in the morning. 

Overwatch would benefit greatly from someone of Hanzo’s calibre. His style would be appreciated more than Blackwatch’s, which lately tended to be blowing down the front doors and popping heads open left and right. It was messy, loud, and unnecessarily violent—the complete opposite of Hanzo’s perfected technique. They were supposed to be a covert op unit, but something was up with Reyes lately. It was subtle, but Reyes’ scent had changed. 

Jesse felt the intense urge for a cigarillo, not to smoke, but to chew on. He didn’t always want to admit it, but he thrived on the violence. The wolf loved the flash of red, and on days where he could feel his other side right beneath the surface of his skin, like if he were to let go only slightly it would burst out, the rush of the kill felt as good as sex. 

Well, _almost_ as good as sex, Jesse grins as he catches up with Hanzo now that the task was done. That outfit of his was such a turn on. 

He wondered if Hanzo loved the kill as well. His heartbeat was strong and steady, and there was nothing that indicated any other emotion except calmness, like still clear waters. 

But the scent of the storm was heavier. Jesse loped towards Hanzo and buried his face against his exposed neck. 

“Good?” Jesse rumbles, breathing in deeply. It was difficult to describe, but it was like inhaling electricity.

Death woke the dragons and they shifted eagerly beneath Jesse’s searching hands as Hanzo’s chest and arm were fondled. Jesse snatched his hand back when blue spines rose from beneath Hanzo’s skin and ghosted through his palm. 

“That’s kind of freaky,” Jesse says. The dragon spirits dipped down and melded back into the flesh.

Hanzo rubs his arm in an attempt to calm them. There were no other victims that needed to feel their fangs tonight. “Did that hurt?” Hanzo asks. 

“Naw, it just felt kind of weird,” Jesse says. His hand felt a bit numb, but it was quickly fading. He had yet to see the dragons in their full form, considering he was out of it when they were summoned, but according to Reyes, it was fucking _loco_ when they had leveled the entire building. 

The few times Jesse tried bringing it up, Hanzo went tight lipped and refused to answer his questions. He knew there was something eating at Hanzo, but like many things regarding him, Jesse had to learn to be patient. 

“Let us go home,” Hanzo beckons, his eyes dark and smoky. _Oh_ , it looks like Hanzo wasn’t so unaffected from a job well done after all. Jesse knew from that look that it was his turn to get his ass pounded tonight. He couldn’t wait. 

 

\---

 

The next day a hasty meeting was called for by the business partner of the man Hanzo had killed. The threat of imminent death by the Shimada-gumi was apparent considering Hanzo left his arrow as a warning. The man was found pinned to his pillow with a wicked arrow shaft sticking out from his forehead—he never saw it coming. 

Jesse thinks it should bother him more that he’s sleeping with the heir of a criminal empire, but the delicious soreness he felt every time he shifted made it difficult. It took a lot for Jesse to feel anything the next day considering his boosted healing factor, but Hanzo had near inhuman stamina last night.

Hanzo didn’t pretend to be good doer, but he wasn’t bad. He had a strong sense of honor, and the Shimada-gumi was objectively the “cleanest” of all the major gangs in Japan. Many other criminal organizations made their profits through human trafficking, sexual slavery in the form of brothels and prostitution, and especially drug dealing. The Shimada-gumi kept their nose clean from all of that. In fact, Gotoh presided over that with an iron fist, and new territories eaten up by the Shimada-gumi were instantly purged of those rogue elements. 

The Shimada-gumi was a semi-legal organization for a reason. “Semi” because for all intents and purposes, they were still the fucking yakuza. “Legal” because in many aspects, they had bureaucratic and local support.

They were death dealers--trading weaponry, importing and exporting banned high tech military grade stuff (just like Jesse did so long ago), occasional assassination contracts, and large-scale extortion and blackmail. They also owned hundreds of small businesses and large factories that had nothing to do with the crime portion, from restaurants to selling wares. 

They reaped huge profits from the fact that their fingers were in every jar. But most of the ordinary businesses operating in their territories did not seem to mind the “protection fee” they had to pay. The protection provided by a big name like the Shimada-gumi provided near safe havens—they kept the trash out. The streets were cleaner, there were no other gangs roaming the street, the Shimada clan followers were banned from harassing the locals, and all illicit business such as prostitution were kept strictly legal under Japanese laws and more importantly, quiet. 

Jesse had asked Hanzo once why didn’t they get into the lucrative trade of drugs at the very least. Not that he condoned it (and honestly if he found out that Hanzo participated in human trafficking he would’ve ended their relationship right there, because there was a line that could be crossed), and Hanzo explained to him that it was filthy and would divide their strength. It was too easy to abuse drugs, and it weakened the will of those who used it. How often did it happen that the supplier also became the consumer? 

As representatives of the clan, both literally and symbolically, a strong image was tantamount. “Maintaining our territories is like maintaining a garden,” Hanzo explained to him once. “If there are weeds and unsightly growth, it ruins the cohesive order. The image presented on the surface must be spotless, even as it lies on a foundation of corpses.” Hanzo had a special way with words sometimes.

Jesse was in Blackwatch and was more than familiar with the concept of gray areas. He wasn’t looking out to excuse Hanzo and his empire, but it honestly could’ve been a lot worse. He could work with this. 

“So why did you kill that guy last night anyway?” Jesse asks when Hanzo received the urgent call for a sudden meeting. 

“We work with various small factions, and in exchange for their continued existence, they must follow our rules and pay our tolls. We found out recently that these two business partners have been getting greedy, and attempted to establish a sex trade ring by extorting underaged girls and boys into one of our territories,” Hanzo explains. “It is much easier for the perpetrator to dismantle his own wrongs, and so that is what I will be forcing.”

Jesse’s face darkens and he looks away. “And when it’s done, I hope you stick an arrow through him too,” he says. The viciousness in his tone caught Hanzo by completely by surprise. 

“Jesse?” Hanzo says with mild alarm, and places his hand on Jesse’s shoulders. The sudden change in mood was startling. 

Jesse pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s nothing darlin’, don’t worry about it.” 

“No,” Hanzo says, and he places gentle on the nape of Jesse’s neck and squeezes. “Something I said has agitated you, and I would like to know what and why.” 

“It’s just old news. There’s no real purpose of talking about it. Let the past stay in the past,” Jesse says airily as if it held no weight. Good actor or not, Hanzo was not fooled. Jesse was desperately avoiding the topic. 

“Come now, I wish to know you, both for good and ill.” Hanzo turns Jesse’s face so that they were eye to eye. “Do not hide from me,” he says. 

“Shit darlin’,” Jesse mutters, reaching for a cigarillo to chew on, “You and I come from such different lifestyles. I don’t want to tell you no sob story—” Hanzo shot him a puzzled look ”—uh, it means a sad story, usually someone bitching about something.”

He knew that when Jesse felt agitated, his oral fixation was much more pronounced. 

“Is that why you do not wish to tell me? You do not want to come off as a complainer?” Hanzo asks. Feeling daring, he smartly flicks the cigarillo out of Jesse’s mouth and replaced it with his finger, the soft pads ghosting on the edge of Jesse’s slightly parted lips. A wet pink tongue flicked at the exploring digits. 

“Didn’t have enough of me last night?” The tip of a sharp canine nips at Hanzo’s finger. Hanzo felt his pulse quicken. Jesse was turning him into a sexual deviant. Prior to Jesse his needs were seldom and easily taken care of. Now Jesse made him _yearn_ for more each time, and the acts he allowed to be done to him…

Jesse’s mouth suckling at his fingers was distracting and had temporarily waylaid their conversation. 

“You wolf,” Hanzo says, and he pulls out his finger with a wet _pop_ and taps it hard against Jesse’s lips. “Do not think I can be so easily distracted.” 

Jesse gives his finger one last cursory lick. “What can I do to make you let it go?” He purrs, and paws not so subtly at Hanzo’s sash. Hanzo struggles with him. The struggle quickly devolved into a wrestling bout, Jesse’s heavier weight barreling into him, and Hanzo felt the rush of excitement at having to pull every trick he knew to match against Jesse’s unfair strength advantage. 

Their laughs could probably be heard from outside. It was difficult to gain the upperhand when neither were trying with serious intent. Jesse yelps loudly when Hanzo pinched different nerve endings along his neck and shoulder that sent his arm spasming and he had to catch himself with his cybernetic arm. “How are you finding all these places to get me? I didn’t even know spots like those existed!” 

Hanzo chuffs as he does a move Jesse couldn’t even begin to describe, and in one smooth tumble and roll, Jesse is pinned onto his back with Hanzo saddled on top of him, his arms pressed tightly against the mat. If Jesse wanted to, he could break out of Hanzo’s grip now through sheer strength alone, but goddamn if that wasn’t sexy. 

“I love a man that can kick my ass,” Jesse says, somewhat ruffled. Their play fight took a lot more energy out of him than he thought it would. Hanzo’s hand-to-hand combat skills were no joke, even when done in jest. 

“And so have I won this contest?” Hanzo asks. He could feel a hard length slowly thickening beneath him. 

“Uh-huh,” Jesse says. He didn’t even know that this was a competition, but he wasn’t going to complain about losing here. 

“You concede defeat?” Hanzo loses his breath as Jesse’s hips surged upwards. _Focus_ , he reprimands himself. 

“Mmhmm,” he hums, his eyes hot and heavy-lidded. Hanzo leans forward, his mouth a centimeter away from Jesse’s eager lips, the warm breath fanning against Hanzo’s face. 

“Then as my prize, I wish to know what you are avoiding.” 

Jesse’s head falls back onto the floor with a solid thump. The moment was ruined. Hanzo might as well have dunked him into a cold pool. 

“This is so unlike you to be so damn persistent. If I don’t want to talk about it, it’s for good reason,” he says through gritted teeth. He pushes himself up and Hanzo rolls off of him. 

Jesse strides to the door and shoves on his boots. “I’ll see you after your meeting or something. Don’t wait up for me.” 

Hanzo did not stop him. Jesse did not anger easily, and this was the first time it was directly pointed at him. Perhaps he had pushed too far, but it was too late to take his request back. 

At the meeting he was now late to, it was no challenge grinding the disreputable man in front of him under his heel. Hanzo had every intention of killing him once what the man sought to build was completely dismantled. It was good to make an example of those that grew too forward in their dealings. 

 

\---

 

Later that evening it was the dragon that slipped into the wolf’s lair. Although Jesse’s back was turned from the door, Hanzo knew he was awake. He slid underneath the sheets and flattened himself against Jesse’s broad back. 

Hanzo had thought about it the whole day. What Jesse said earlier was true to an extent, that it was unusual for him to attempt to ply information so strongly out of him. It was Hanzo’s job, in a sense, to get the truth out of the unwilling, and he had no qualms about that. But Jesse was not an enemy informant, nor an underling. He was Hanzo’s partner, and prying him so deeply had crossed that boundary. 

Let him have his privacy. Hanzo was well aware that Jesse allowed him his and bore many unanswered questions with a patience he was not given proper credit for. 

An apology formed, but it lodged itself tight against Hanzo’s throat. 

It took half an hour of unmoving silence before Jesse turned over and gave Hanzo a kiss. All was forgiven. No words were necessary. 

 

\---

 

Time passed too quickly. It seemed that just as quickly Jesse had arrived, he now had to leave. It was a sad day, but better than last time. Now they had the private comm link to utilize. Not only that, but Hanzo made due on a promise made months ago and had given Jesse a photo of himself. 

Hanzo saw how much his assassination attire had affected Jesse, and so the photo he gave depicted him as such. It was uncomfortable setting himself up for a camera shot, but Jesse would need reminders of who was waiting for him in Japan. When he saw the picture that was printed out, however, Hanzo was aghast by the expression on his face. There was nothing vulgar about the photo—it was entirely respectable—but the combination of everything else made it appallingly alluring. 

“Goddamn, that’s a sexy look you got on you,” Jesse exclaimed when Hanzo had given him the photo without a word. Jesse thought that Hanzo might as well have been eye-fucking the camera—he was practically _smoldering_. He knew what he was going to jerk off to when he arrived at the base in Geneva. “This is the best gift a man can have and I’m going to cherish this forever.” 

“Please do not show that photo to anyone,” Hanzo says, already having second thoughts about it. There were reasons why photos of him in any event were rare; it was simply a matter of security. If father knew about this, a tirade would be the least of his worries.

Jesse tucks the small photo safely away in the inner pocket of his jacket. Hanzo steps into his space for an embrace. 

“I’ll call you as soon as I can,” Jesse says, unable to let go of Hanzo quite yet. Hanzo had already called for a car to transport Jesse to the airport and it waited patiently outside of the castle. 

The kisses they shared would always be tinged with bittersweetness. It would be many long months before they saw each other once more. 

“My brother sent me a message. He apologizes for not being around at this time, and says that next time you come that he would like to spend some time with you,” Hanzo says in between kisses. Genji was despondent that he couldn’t be in Hanamura to “hang out with _aniki’s_ bad ass werewolf boyfriend.”

Perhaps it was the pressure placed on father by the elders, or mayhaps he had made up his mind to tighten the long leash Genji was generously kept on, but Genji had been sent to learn a trade further away from the comforts of home. It was merely a trial period for a few months to test his mettle. 

Genji was a twenty-four year old man who had never worked a day in his life, and Hanzo knew father worried. If Genji wanted nothing to do with the Shimada-gumi, then he would have to find some other purpose. Hanzo knew his brother better now and did not expect any success in this. He and Genji could have ruled an empire together, but that was a dream not meant to be. 

“Until next time,” Hanzo sighs. Jesse breathes in his comforting scent and commits it to memory. 

 

\---

 

Reyes had been researching and digging, pulling as many subtle strings as he could, and he thinks he might have found it. It had taken him nearly eight months due to the sheer amount of work he already had on his plate on top of the fact that had to conduct his investigation under the radar, and finally something had paid off. But that evidence was kept locked up in a facility in California. 

_“Have you never wondered what became of your fellows after your completion of the Soldier Enhancement Program?”_

It had occurred to him, but there was never any reason to follow up on that until Moirai had brought it up. He knew that at some point after he and Jack were assigned their positions, that another generation of soldiers had already been picked for the program to replace the “graduating” class. 

As the top tier, the best of the best both within the S.E.P and out, he was only ever concerned about himself and Jack. 

_“Perhaps you will find it interesting to note that it was discontinued shortly after your time. The why is something you would benefit greatly from knowing.”_

Discontinued despite its success? It was military owned for fuck’s sake. There was _always_ a deep pool of funds for the advancement and continuation of national security in the form of people and weaponry. 

If it was true that it was discontinued however, it could due to a number of rational reasons. 

_“You doubt me, but soon you will learn that I speak nothing but truth. There is more hidden from prying eyes, information that will predict your downfall.”_

He hated dancing around a topic. If there really was something sinister, why not just tell him outright? 

_“Because you would not believe me. I have yet to earn your trust.”_

As if he would ever trust a god program. If he could, he would’ve killed it right there, but it was smart. Its main body was not located in that complex, and it was using the corrupted omnics as long distance transmitters. 

_“Regardless of what you believe now, in the end you will cry for help, and in the silence, it will be I to answer the call. Until the future, Commander Reyes.”_

That exchange between him and Moirai has taken only several minutes, but that was more than enough time for a distraction. When he had turned around, all he saw were the blazing bright bodies of what looked impossibly like _dragons_ flying across all the surveillance screens. 

And his ingrate’s arm was blown clean off. 

If he had not allowed himself to be waylaid by the words of a god program, could he have made it there on time to save Jesse’s arm? More than likely. All the chemicals pumped into him from his S.E.P. days made him not only more resilient, but stronger and faster—as fast as Jesse was, and Reyes was still a man, not some mythical creature. He would have figured something out. 

But the hands of time moved only in one direction. Jesse’s healing factor was impressive, but it did not cover limb regeneration. Angela’s Caduceus technology, too, could only accomplish so much. 

Before he left that room, he destroyed all the recordings. There would be no physical evidence of Jesse’s other side to be kept, nor the dragons, nor his failure. 

He got his first two wishes, but not the last. The sight of Jesse’s cybernetic arm was a constant reminder, and no matter how much Jesse reassured him that it was his own choice to sacrifice that arm and that there was nothing Reyes could’ve done to alter the events, Reyes refused to believe that. There was _always_ something to be done. 

Reyes had kept Jesse close for the weeks that followed to the point where Angela frowned at him on sight because he insisted on being there for each check-up (“There is something called doctor-patient _confidentiality_ ,” she had stressed), and Ana had punched him hard on the arm and told him to stop behaving like a “mother-hen” and had promptly taken Jesse away so that she could have her turn berating him. 

Despite the fact that they were at an impasse, Morrison had approached him with condolences on his lips and in that moment they were “Jack and Gabe” again when Reyes had pulled him into his quarters and they fucked it out for an untold amount of hours. The Program both underwent a long time ago that gave them stamina and durability on the battlefield carried over into other, more pleasurable, aspects too.

At some point during their third, or was it fourth, orgasm, both realized how fucked up it was that this was the best sex they’ve ever had in their lives. It might explain why they kept doing this to each other, this push and pull relationship, always wavering between the extremes of hate and love. Morrison had limped out of Reyes’ room afterwards at an ungodly hour with a dazed expression plastered on his face. 

In the official reports, Reyes wrote off the last base as an atypical Talon raid, and that Talon had utilized omnic mercenaries in their ranks. The unexpected resistance caused the events to follow. 

And he did not disclose any information about the existence of a new god program. He had already gauged that the yakuza boy with the hell dragons did not tell Jesse anything about it judging by the confused look on Jesse’s face when Reyes hinted at it. He wondered what Moirai had told whatever his name was— _Genzo? Hanji_? Something like that. It didn’t matter. He banned Jesse from ever seeing that boy again and Jesse had argued without stopping for breath, but agreed in the end when an uncontrollable twitch appeared over Reye’s eye. 

There was nothing to be gained from being associated with the largest criminal organization in Japan. And for god’s sake, was Jesse itching to get his protective agent status revoked and tossed into prison? If the higher-ups ever believed that Jesse, who had a list of offenses as long as Reye’s arm, was compromised, even Reyes wouldn’t be able to keep him from prosecution.

Reyes growled and resisted to urge to punch his computer screen when he was reminded of the mission he was supposed to lead in a couple days. He broke one not too long ago, and he doubted the tech department would write it off as an “accident” again. There were too many things clamoring for his attention at once. 

The evidence waiting for him in California that might finally help him get to the bottom of Moirai’s words was within reach, and could not wait. He had a feeling that the more he delayed it, the more chances he was taking that it would not be there anymore by the time he scoped it out. 

Reyes grits his teeth and opens up a new message box. Morrison had finished up his tasks several days ago, and Jesse was coming back from his personal leave tomorrow. He would have to ask Morrison for a favor and take that mission off his hands. There was no one else he could trust to handle it. 

 

\---

 

“Oh my god,” Lena squealed with delight when the roster for the mission was revealed. “You’re actually going on a mission with us?” 

It was difficult to keep track of Lena when she blinked around like that, the ghostly specter of her blue after-images trailing behind her. The chronal accelerator strapped over her chest burned bright between her unzipped chunky aviator jacket. 

Jesse was surprised himself. He knew that making friends with Lena and the a few other Overwatch members had softened Commander Morrison’s disposition towards him, but not to the point of actually being requested to participate on an official Overwatch mission. Blackwatch and Overwatch kept their agents strictly separate primarily because most in the latter were not even aware of the existence of the former, though the former was significantly smaller in membership. 

“Does Commander Reyes know about this?” Jesse had asked Morrison suspiciously. 

“He was the one that asked me to take you,” Morrison had replied with a quirked brow. “And honestly, considering he favors you so much, it’s high time I saw you in action.” 

Jesse almost snorted at that. Morrison was flat out lying. He had existed under Morrison’s radar for nearly a decade and _now_ he wanted to test him out? There was something more going on there, he could smell it. 

And speaking of smell, did Morrison go digging through Reyes’ laundry and roll around in it or something? He and Morrison were sitting side by side on the carrier jet and this was the closest they’ve ever been in the vicinity of each other, and for such a prolonged period too. Now that there were no distractions and whatever hostility Morrison had towards him seems to have mostly diminished, he could smell it. 

It was barely there, but there was a sweet scent, almost feverish like, that lingered around Morrison. It was what Reyes smelled like, though Reyes’ had grown much more pronounced as of late. Only close relatives shared similar scents, and as far as he knew and he truly hoped so, there was no genetic kinship between Reyes and Morrison. 

Lena’s enigmatic bubbly chatter kept the mood light and eased Jesse’s nerves a bit. He had never worked with anyone else in this twelve-member squad before. The only familiar face was Lena’s, or rather _Tracer’s_. He knew she usually went by her call-sign on missions. 

It was distinctly uncomfortable and he had no idea what was going through Reyes’ mind for him to allow this. Why the sudden change up now after so many years? He spied the other agents subtly eyeing him and measuring him up. They knew who he was. But he didn’t know them. 

Aria and Sasha would be laughing their asses off at him right now. He was acting like some kind of greenhorn worried about what others thought of him. Where was his cockiness now? Maybe he was living in a small world after all, almost ten years under the same commander running missions with the same people, the only change-up being the occasional participation of the Strike Commander’s second-in-command Ana Amari. She was a class of her own. 

_Ignore all distractions_ , Hanzo’s calm voice whispers to him, parting the waves of tension. _Maintain your poise, and all will fall into its proper place_. 

Trust Hanzo to be the one to ease him down, even when he wasn’t physically present. Jesse would give just about anything for him to be here right now, sitting beside him in this carrier jet, daring with his dark dangerous eyes and sure composure for anyone to question his skill. 

Jesse let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, leans back, and covers his face with his hat. A ten minute nap would be nice. Without Hanzo sleeping beside him, the nightmares from long-forgotten memories spilled forth unbidden. 

He dreamt of blood and and the sensation of falling so deep that there was no going back. 

Jesse heard Morrison shift when he covered his face. He never realized how lax Reyes was when it came to personal items on the field. Morrison had eyed his cowboy hat and BAMF belt with genuine disapproval when the designated agents had gathered in the hangar, though he had not asked Jesse to remove it. 

There would be another half hour till landing. He couldn’t wait to get this over with. 

 

\---

 

It took a lot to impress Jack both on an individual scale as well as through the official Strike Commander standpoint, and he had to say that Gabe’s favoritism of McCree was not unmerited. Tracer cooed over her new friend, and asked him questions a mile a minute. Jack knew that Tracer’s high energy was a hit or miss with most people, and he accepted it because she was so young (barely eighteen, currently their youngest member. Not so long ago, it was McCree). McCree took it all in good stride and seemed to comprehend every blazingly fast sentence that spilled out of her mouth. 

Gabe always mocked him for his tendency towards speeches, but that never deterred Jack. He firmly believed it was good for morale, and he wanted his soldiers to know that they did well. As usual, he congratulated them on their teamwork, especially considering there were zero injuries, and also the success of the mission in capturing the prime leaders of a terrorist cell with no casualties. All the leaders were alive, if somewhat incapacitated, and would be taken in for treatment before being put on trial. Excellent work all around, he praised. 

But when he said that, his team had glanced over at McCree. They knew it was McCree that saved the mission from turning into a complete failure today.

Jack had underestimated the technology available to their enemy, and no one expected a roughly cobbled together teleporter, obviously a rip-off version of the Vishkar Corporation’s. It was poorly made and barely functional, but it would’ve done the trick and allowed the leaders to make their escape. 

Jack had fallen for the distraction at the other end of the field, and when those terrorist leaders made a dash for it, they were far enough that not even Tracer with her chronal blinks could make it in time to catch them all on her own. 

He didn’t know how McCree figured out what was going on so quickly, and how he managed to move to a high vantage point with such alacrity, but through the open comm line Jack kept with his team, as he saw the teleporter in the distance flare to life, he heard a low “ _It’s high noon_ ” and not a moment later,“ _Draw!_ ,” the sound of what seemed like one long gunshot, and all five of the runaways crumpled to the floor simultaneously.

One clean bullet blew open the kneecap of each man, all on the right leg, through the exact same spot. It immobilized them long enough to be captured and for the teleporter to collapse under its own inefficiency. 

The sun had crested behind the building, and had cast McCree’s vantage point in complete shadow. But his cowboy hat created a distinctly recognizable silhouette. It was obvious who did the deed, even though it was only Jack that heard his drawl through the comm. 

When McCree had reconvened with the group, Jack was tempted to berate him for falling away from the formation, which could have compromised the entire operation, but Tracer’s delighted giggles as she blinked up to him and proclaimed him a “hero” cut that short.

He wasn’t blind to how McCree acted around Gabe, and he expected a cocksure attitude, some kind of sassy comment or fishing for compliments while subtly dissing the rest of the team for his frankly incredible feat with a revolver of all things. He had always questioned the efficacy of such an antiquated gun, but now that he had seen for himself what it could do in the right hands, it put those doubts to rest. 

Jack anticipated smart-assery, and his tongue prepared to deliver a litany of various put-downs to put him back in his place, but no such behavior was exhibited. Whatever happened to McCree in Japan had changed him, and he did draw any attention to his actions. It was simply shrugged off and ignored; _nada del otro mundo_. 

He looked weary, like all he wanted to do was sleep it off. 

McCree was never really a kid in Jack’s eyes from day one. He knew that if Gabe had been running this operation as planned, it was likely that every one of the leaders would have been executed on the spot except for one as their special informant (he knew torture was likely) before putting out his lights too. And who would’ve done the executions? He knew with certainty McCree would have participated. He had the eyes and steady hands of a killer, though he had since learned to hide it well. But Jack knew what to look for—he saw it every time he looked into Gabe’s eyes. 

“What’s the point of packing them off to jail? These assholes have money locked up overseas. How long do you think it’ll take before their fancy lawyers spring them out? And then we’re back to square one again.” It was an old argument favored by Gabe, and a contentious point between them. 

“That doesn’t give us the right to act as arbitrators and executioners at the same time, unbound by any restrictions. This isn’t what Overwatch stands for,” was always Jack’s response, somewhere along those lines. 

“If it bothers you so much, then turn your clean nose away from the mud. If you completely disagreed with my methods, you would have fought hard to shut Blackwatch down already. To shut me down. But you haven’t.”

And Gabe was right. They needed Blackwatch. The red tape and bureaucratic rules strangled many operations and prevented its success, and the bad guys were allowed to prance away while hiding behind the same laws that were meant to prosecute them. 

It was frustrating and absolutely maddening, like all their hard work was meaningless, but Jack still refused to completely give in to Gabe’s logic. Law and justice existed for a reason. And it was too easy for them to abuse their power without the U.N. presiding over their actions. 

No good would come out of Blackwatch-only methods. They might as well be a militant vigilante group. 

But conforming strictly to U.N. sanctioned Overwatch regulations would significantly bring down their success rate in combating global threats, especially in areas that needed help the most. How many troubled countries existed in which its people were crying for help, yet Overwatch could not promptly answer that call due to the political uproar it would cause? Too many was the answer. The U.N. did not like stepping on anyone’s toes. But sometimes toes did not just need to be stepped on—they needed to be crushed. And again, Gabe was the one to fulfill that role. 

Over the next few days, Gabe had yet to return from wherever he went off to. He was evasive about the emergency and didn’t even log where he was going. He had used his personal funds to travel, and so there wasn’t even a receipt for Jack to track him down with. 

The quarters of each Overwatch agent was equipped with a small window that faced a private courtyard ordinarily used by people for exercise and drill practice. 

He caught sight of McCree smoking, his upper torso hanging out the window, and a comm held up to his ear. Jack was too far away to hear anything, but he could see the fond smile on McCree’s face as he chatted animatedly away with whoever was on the other side. 

Jack felt a familiar bitterness swell in him at the thought that it was Gabe on the other end.


	2. Year 2

The physician drew a third pint of blood from Jack’s arm as the psychiatrist, holopad in hand, continued to grill him with a list of questions. 

“Have you had symptoms of irritability that lasted for a week or more?” 

Other than maybe from this puzzling and incredibly invasive sudden check-up by a S.E.P. physician? “No,” Jack says. He was already feeling light-headed. Were they trying to give him a class 3 hemorrhage with the amount of blood being taken? 

“Have you been having trouble sleeping?”

“I’m the Strike Commander of Overwatch. Of course I have trouble sleeping,” Jack says snappishly. The manner in which the psychiatrist asked her questions seemed like she was fishing for a problem. 

“Do you engage in risky behaviors and feel pressured speech?” Jack did not bother answering that one. He feels a sense of relief when the needle was finally withdrawn from his arm. He was worried that there would be a fourth pint. 

The psychiatrist marks something on her pad. “Have you ever felt that people were conspiring against you or monitoring your activities?” 

Woah, now that was a question that came completely from the left field. His mind instantly latched onto Gabe. 

“No,” he says. 

“Have you ever harbored thoughts that were not your own, but implanted by another?” 

“If so, then how would I even know? Is there a point to all of this? This is not a standard health evaluation,” Jack says with annoyance. “I’ve got pressing work to do and you are significantly delaying me. Can we wrap this up?” 

The psychiatrist’s facial expression remained impassive, almost robot-like. She tapped her holopad off and covered it. 

“That will be all for today. Thank you for your time Strike Commander Morrison,” she says coolly. 

“So am I going to be given a reason for all of this?” Jack asks as they pack up and make their leave. 

“You will be told only what is necessary. Do not overstep your bounds by inquiring too deeply. Good day,” she says. 

Jack watched them exit with consternation. He knew the S.E.P. was highly classified still to the point where not even the resident head physician of the Geneva HQ was allowed to give him medical examinations (Angela was kicked out of her own infirmary for this), but all of this was too sudden, the questions he was asked too pointed. Something was going on, and he thinks he knows who might have kicked the hornet’s nest. 

 

\---

 

“No,” Jesse says. “You promised me you wouldn’t ever make me do that.” 

“And you know I wouldn’t unless it was absolutely dire,” Reyes says. “But we’re talking about the lives of many high profile people at stake here. Including the sister of the Secretary of Defense.”

Jesse quells a whine back down his throat. “And you support this, Ana?” Jesse says to her. She stood blocking the door, her arms crossed firmly around her chest. Her face was pulled into an unhappy frown. 

“I don’t, but sometimes we all have to do things we don’t want to,” she says. “The situation has grown more dire. Of the initial thirty-two hostages, it’s been reported that only twenty-five or so are still alive. The decapitated heads of some of the kidnapped politicians have already been sent to the Yemeni government in bloodied boxes.”

“Why isn’t Commander Morrison taking charge of this? This is right up his alley, especially with the amount of public attention this is receiving,” Jesse argues. 

“Jack is working closely with the U.N. for peaceful negotiations, but he knows that it’ll be too late if they continue on that route,” Ana says. 

“The political atmosphere of this is a clusterfuck,” Reyes summarizes. “The conspiracy theories of Overwatch being involved in the recent coup d’etat of the Yemeni government has gained a lot of traction, which is why all those people at the U.S. consulate were taken to begin with. The country is entirely divided about this crisis, whether it is justified or not.” 

“But we did have a hand in it,” Jesse says, remembering the hot sun and the gritty sand, the blood on fancy persian rugs against alabaster floors. “Is it any surprise that there would be such a huge backlash? And what the hell was the Secretary of Defense’s sister doing in Yemen anyway?” 

“Peacekeeping efforts,” Ana answers. “She was trying to defuse the situation and got swept up with the hostage crisis. As far as we know she’s still alive, but who knows for how long.” 

“Fuck,” Jesse curses. “These people behind the kidnapping aren’t Talon though, or other known terrorist organizations.” 

“I’m familiar with the concept, boy,” Ana says. “One side says terrorist, the other says freedom fighter. We all do what we think is best, but right now the situation is that we have a large hostile group backed with stolen military gear, and that they’re killing the hostages one by one.”

“The Secretary of Defense and the U.N. are on our asses demanding we do something about this, something quiet. No bullets, no tech, not so much as a footprint to trace it back to us,” Reyes says. 

“And what, eighty or so people slaughtered overnight by some kind of animal attack wouldn’t raise questions?” Jesse says incredulously. “You can’t honestly believe that this is any better.”

“It’s the only option we have,” Reyes says. “And time is running out.”

“I can’t believe you two,” Jesse moans. “What if I can’t stop? What if I can’t change back?” He grows chilled by the thought. Over the course of his entire life, he had fully transformed into his other side only four times. The first time he transformed was the worst and a near disaster right then and there, the other two were closely monitored and strictly for reconnaissance, and the last time was two years ago in Japan and he has a cybernetic arm to show for it. 

“I’ll be watching over you,” Ana says, striding over to cup his face in her cool dry palms, just as she did seven years ago when she confronted him about her confirmation of the existence of his other side. “Do you trust me?” Her words were an echo of the past.

“Yeah,” Jesse says, his resolve weakening. “I trust you.” His head hung low.

“We’ll be monitoring you from afar, and equip you with a tracking device. In case anything goes wrong, we will find you,” Reyes says, clapping Jesse firmly on the back.

“Hopefully it’s to not execute me though,” Jesse says, his mind already racing with all the things that could go wrong. More than one victim, their hot blood dripping from his jaws and coating his claws. The high from the kills would probably be too much to handle. He flirted with the wolf occasionally when he needed a boost in strength or agility, or to utilize _dead-eye_ , but letting out parts of it was not the same as letting it go completely. And Ana and Reyes knew this. 

“I hope you prepared something strong in your rifle,” Jesse says weakly, a piss poor attempt at humor, “because those tiny darts you normally use aren’t going to do jack shit against me.” 

Reyes pulls him in for a strong one-armed hug. “We aren’t going to kill you,” he says, “or maim you,” he amends. “A massive sandstorm is expected to sweep throughout the Arabian peninsula beginning tomorrow, and the idea is to utilize that to our advantage. But we need to set-up before the storm hits, otherwise it’ll just take down our ride with all that grit.”

“When are we leaving?” Jesse says, feeling cold despite the warmth of Reyes’ body. 

“In an hour,” Ana says. “It’ll be just you, me and Reyes, and Angela will be waiting in the Saudi Arabian base just in case.”

“So how did you manage to convince Angela that this was a good idea?” Jesse asks. He knew how staunch she was against these types of mission, especially one as morally ambiguous as this. It was nice to have someone the same age as him, and so different in mindset too. She was a real pacifist, and an angel inside and out. 

“We didn’t have to convince her to do anything. She doesn’t know what we’re about to do,” Ana says. “Angela has already been sent to Saudi Arabia to assist in healing the outpouring number of refugees fleeing from a neighboring country. There’s more than one war going on here, and you know how her bleeding heart works.”

“She won’t know of our presence there unless absolutely necessary. As you can see, we are taking as many precautions as we can. Have some faith,” Reyes says. 

“Go get ready,” Ana says. “We’ll see you again in half an hour.” 

It was still early in the morning in Geneva, and Japan was eight hours ahead. Jesse knew that it would be six in the evening in Hanamura right now, and that the chances of Hanzo picking up would be fifty-fifty. He would be leaving soon for a business deal with the triad in Hong Kong and a growing influential kkangpae in Seoul. It was a strange sensation to simultaneously be happy for his lover’s success, but also concerned for the Shimada-gumi’s widening sphere of influence. 

There really wasn’t much to pack other than a new pack of cigarillos and an old lighter, a spare change of clothes, Peacemaker (though on second thought he puts that away, because it’s not like he was going to be using it), and of course the photo of Hanzo. He had a feeling he would need him there with him in some kind of form. 

He picks up the specialized comm and makes the call. There’s no answer at first, and Jesse felt a well of a disappointment. It was to be expected, really. But just as he was about to end the attempt, the other side picks up.

“Perfect timing darlin’, I was just about to—”

“If brother heard you call me ‘darlin,’ he would have my head. And yours,” a lighter voice says playfully. 

“Oh, Genji-san. Is Hanzo there?” Jesse knew that on occasion Hanzo’s little brother would chill in Hanzo’s room, usually to wait for him to come back from somewhere. There were a few times where Hanzo was too busy or tired to chat, and it would be Genji who would take up the line instead. 

“He’s still out making preparations for tomorrow’s trip. Do you want me to leave a message for him?”

“Naw, it’s fine. When is he going to be back?” Jesse asks, looking at the time. 

“Not for at least another two hours. Usually you don’t call this early. Is something up?”

“I guess you could say that,” Jesse says, falling onto the bed and covering his eyes with his hand. “There’s something that I’m not looking forward to doing and...there’s a chance that I might not come back from it.” 

“Woah, hold on there,” Genji says with panic, “If you want, I can call brother right now and say it’s an emergency. It’ll take him an hour to get here in a rush because he’s in another district right now—”

“—No, no it’s fine,” Jesse says. It wasn’t fine. “I have to leave really soon, and there won’t be enough time.”

“Talk to me McCree-san,” Genji pleads. “Are you going on some kind of suicide mission? Can’t you say no? When will you be coming back?” 

“Shit, you know I can’t talk about the details, as much as I want to,” Jesse says. “I just wanted to hear his voice again and for him to talk me down. I’m nervous as hell right now,” he admits. He hears what sounds like cursing in Japanese from the other end.

There’s a brief moment of silence, and Jesse actually starts thinking that he might’ve lost the connection. 

“I’m trying my best to channel brother right now, but it isn’t working,” Genji says, sounding severely constipated. That brought out an unexpected barking laughter from Jesse. The difference between the brothers were like night and day, and the thought of Genji pulling a serious face, straightening his back, and deepening his voice was too much. 

“You’re already making me feel better,” Jesse says, wiping away the tears in his eyes. “I was not prepared for that.” 

“Anytime, McCree-san. It’s what friends do right?” Genji says, and Jesse could hear his grin. They had a lot of fun together the last time Jesse was there, once Genji finally came back from wherever he was sent to. Hanzo was unhappy to find them forcefully ejected from a bar, pissed as all hell with a tab nearly as long as their forearms. Two tabs actually. Hanzo paid for his, and took Genji’s out of his own funds much to his loud complaints. It was a great night.

They chatted about lighter stuff. Jesse was surprised to when Genji told him about his new girlfriend, some chick named Mayuri, that he met when he was sent away. They’ve been dating for a month now, which was a milestone for Genji considering he swapped partners by the week. He was so much worse than Jesse was before he had met Hanzo, even at his highest playboy point. 

“So are we ever going to meet her?” Jesse asks. 

“Probably not,” Genji says. “She wants absolutely nothing to do with the yakuza, and getting her to date me at all was a real challenge. It was refreshing actually.”

“At some point Hanzo is going to want to meet the gal that managed to nab his brother’s attention,” Jesse says. “Especially if you’re going to go and marry her.”

Genji splutters from the other end. “I’m not marrying her. We haven’t even dated for half a year yet!” 

Jesse laughs loudly. “Shit, calm down. I’m just pulling your leg,” he says. He gave it another month before Genji inevitably broke up with her. His attention span when it came to partners was pretty low. Jesse looked at the time again and sighed. 

“Alright, time’s up. I’ve got to go,” Jesse says regretfully. 

“My brother will want to call you as soon as you are available. When will you be coming back?”

Jesse mulls it over. “I don’t know. Might be a few days.”

“And is there any message you want me to deliver to him?” Genji says, his playfulness long faded and replaced instead with a somber note. 

“Just…” Jesse hesitates. “Just tell him I love him, and that I’ll see him soon.” 

“Gross to the first part, but yes to the second. You know that this is going to worry him without end until you two get in contact again right?” 

“Yeah, I know,” Jesse sighs. “I’m glad I got to talk to you at least. Thanks, partner.” 

“Anytime, partner,” Genji repeats. “When I see you again, I’ll buy you a drink. Stay safe.”

When they finally ended the call, Jesse felt lighter. The nerves and anxiety were still there, but talking to Genji was good for the soul. He had things to look forward to, people he wanted desperately to see again. There was no reason to get lost in the wolf when there were those who cared to bring him back. 

You’ll be fine, Jesse reassures himself. He hides the comm back in its usual place and heads out. 

 

\---- 

 

According to the global satellite systems, the hostages were holed up in a formerly abandoned military bunker out in the northeast corner of Yemen. The complex was composed of multiple low rise buildings constructed half-way into the dirt, rusted over and eroded by continuous dust and sandstorms that swept the country often, but still viable. The rebel fighters had patched up the place as much as they could, and to an extent, had turned it into a working stronghold once more.

Reyes brought out the holographic map and highlighted the centermost structure in the middle of the encampment. It was strongly suspected that all the hostages were imprisoned there. 

Ana, with the help of the flight system’s AI, flew their camouflaged four-seater jet two miles away from the site, and hid it behind large overhanging rocks. The wind was already bearing down on them, kicking up the sand. The wind picked up speed as the sun reached its zenith, until finally it was time. The dust storm was not yet at its height, but it was getting there. The orange filtered light was surreal. 

His other side was both a wolf and not a wolf at the same time, but either way, it was a desert creature. Neither his ma nor abuelita, who was a wolf herself, lived long enough to really tell him much about that quirky genetic side of the family, but Ana knew enough to fill in the blanks. “There are wolves in Egypt too,” she had said, so long ago. “This horus eye has seen a lot, and you are nothing new under the sun.”

The conditions were not optimal, but it would not impair his abilities too much. He had to suppress a flinch when Ana brought out a needle gun to inject a microscopic tracking device into his forearm. “Uhh, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jesse says when she swabs his arm with alcohol. “My immune system isn’t going to like that very much.” 

She ignores him and presses it in. “Courtesy of Angela, it’s coated in a layer of your own body’s extracted enzymes and proteins. It should be fine for the meantime. We’ll remove it as soon as the mission is done,” she reassures him.

“Is it too late to back out still?” Jesse mutters as he rubs his arm. That patch of skin already felt irritated. 

“It’ll be over before you know it,” Reyes says from the front of the landed jet. He brought out the respirator masks and specialized goggles for himself and Ana, and a larger set for Jesse. 

“Think you’ll need these?” Reyes asks. Jesse picks up the gear and examines it. “Probably,” he says. “Grit in the eyes will make it hard to see, and I don’t think I want dust up my nose. Hopefully it’ll fit.” 

He strips. This wasn’t his first rodeo, so to speak, but it was his first time using it on a mission for offensive purposes. Or rather, murderous purposes. Ana and Reyes discreetly turned away as Jesse shed his underwear and folded it up neatly besides the rest of his clothes. Normally he would’ve just bundled it all up in the corner, but Hanzo’s influence had gotten to him. Especially when it was positively reinforced through kisses. 

Ana and Reyes turned around when they heard the wet snap of bones breaking and reforming, the skin stretching and muscles rearranging. It was a fascinatingly grotesque. As his body shifted, so did the cybernetic arm. Reyes had worked closely with Angela, who worked with Dr. Noguchi, about the commission. Reyes had insisted that it have the alternate form in the rare circumstance in which Jesse had to transform—a one-armed wolf was just not optimal. Dr. Noguchi did not ask the purpose behind it and did what was requested to the exact specifications; he had worked with many clients throughout his long career, and completed much stranger requests. The entire shapeshifting from beginning to end took less than a minute, the silence broken only by Jesse’s soft grunts of pain, and the soft clicks of the cybernetic arm plates unlocking and shifting, but it was finished.

Before there stood a man, still young and vibrant. Now stood a nightmarish configuration of what someone imagined a wolf to be, the shape familiar, but the details otherworldly. The shape of the face and length of the snout was wolfish, as were the long rigid ears, but the body was long and wraith-like, a twisted combination of animal and man with no tail. Very little fur decorated the body, covering only parts of the face, chest, arms and legs. The rest was bare, but extremely tough leathery skin, a deep grey to black hue. Perhaps it was a natural human predilection to notice such a thing, but it was immediately evident that the wolf had no obvious sexual organs. It was smooth and, for all outward appearances, genderless. Ana had once described the wolf more as a “spirit manifested into flesh,” something ancient in origin and whose story had been lost through time. But the theory was that all “wolves” in the world shared a common ancestor, a common origin either through genetic or mystical means. Reyes described it as some occult shit, but Ana had her resources and really, it wasn’t like there was much other information available to cross reference. 

After meeting Hanzo, Jesse figured some things would always remain unexplained. Hanzo himself could not describe the origins of the dragons, though their power was real and continued down the Shimada line. Hanzo’s family had their own lore and beliefs surrounding their existence, but truly there was no definitive evidence to back it up. Though how one could possibly find said evidence about something like spirits from a whole other plane of existence was beyond Jesse. 

In his current state, the colors in the jet took on a different hue. The spectrum of colors were leached out, and all that was left was a sepia tone with infinitely more shades of grey and black. No true shadows existed—he could see through it all, through every dark corner in complete detail. 

Ana reached out a hand and Jesse pushed his snout against it for a light whuff. Still him. It’s okay. 

Together, Ana and Reyes looped the goggles around Jesse’s face and tied the respirator around his snout. It was already incredibly uncomfortable, acting more like a muzzle, and Jesse would not be able to use his jaws to bite anyone, but that was probably for the better. Blood in the mouth might make him crazy again. His long hands tipped with wicked curved claws would more than suffice. 

“Okay?” Reyes asks, knuckling him under the jaw. Jesse nods. Reyes clips a round metallic device around his neck and a comm line to his twitching ear. “We will keep within half a mile from the attack site. When the storm reaches its peak, we will cut the power to the entire complex, and that’s when you will strike. Eliminate all targets except for the hostages as quickly as possible. Do not confront the hostages. Remain out of sight. And when it is done, return to us. Do you understand?” 

Jesse nods again. It wasn’t like he could speak with the straps of the respirator tying his mouth shut anyway unless he wanted to break it. 

“Good. Time to head out,” Reyes says. He and Ana activate a small personalized colorless shield to protect them against the buffet of wind and most of the sand. They put on their own masks and goggles, Ana tightens the thick leather strap of her biotic rifle with the new assortment of vials already loaded in it, and Reyes unlocks the doors. 

The mile and a half trek was slow and difficult with the shifting ground beneath their feet, and Reyes did not even want to imagine how impossible it would be without their equipment. Visibility was piss poor, but the GPS guided them faithfully to the point. 

Despite the low visibility and rough terrain, the wolf did not seem to have any trouble. To combat the shifting grounds, the wolf walked on all fours, it’s large feet and paws stepping light across the sand, and it followed Ana and Reyes without trouble.

It took nearly an hour to get to their destination, and when they finally arrived, the storm had reached its peak. The dust and sand was so thick that it near completely blocked out the sun, like walking through a filtered abyss. Even with Ana and Reyes’ specialized goggles, they could barely see the outline of the complex ahead of them. Jesse did not have the same trouble. 

They found a patch of rock slightly elevated above the sand, and set up there, half a mile away from the complex. Ana bolted down her rifle to the stone and laid herself flat on the floor, adjusting the scope. Reyes powered up the binoculars. 

At Reyes signal, Jesse ran. Through Ana’s high powered scope and through Reyes’ binoculars, they could see the wolf cut through the storm, his speed a dark blur against the sand and dust. 

When he reached the edge of the compound, Ana activated the device around Jesse’s neck. It was one-time use only, but that was all they needed. A large EMP blast, harmless to the carrier, discharged in a massive radius and they all saw the little blips of light cut out. Whatever back-up generators they had would be temporarily out of order as well. Time to get to work. 

Ana followed Jesse’s swift form as he swept from complex to complex. With each compound Jesse entered, he left after only a five minutes.  
Through the comm lines, they could hear the wolf’s light huffs and the sound of bodies hitting the floor. There was no sound of gunfire or the ringing of alarms. He was still undetected. Good. 

It took only thirty minutes for Jesse to nearly clear the area. And as planned, he left the building holding the hostages alone. In the last bunker though, that’s when something changed. 

Both realized something was wrong at the same time when they heard a low snarl, and what sounded eerily like the wet snap of bones and the burble of liquid filling a gargling throat.

“Jesse,” Reyes says through the comm link. “Whatever you’re doing, stop. Reconvene with us, now.” 

The answer to that was a growl and more snapping of bone. 

“Fuck,” Reyes cursed. He unslung his shotgun and rose from the ground. He was going to go get him. 

“Wait,” Ana says, squinting through the scope. “I see him coming out. Do you think he’s compromised?” Her finger was on the trigger. At this distance and through such winds, it would be difficult to land a shot, but she was the best of the best for a reason. All it would take was one unhesitating shot. 

Her biotic rifle was equipped with a special concoction of drugs strong enough to paralyze an elephant. It would be enough to knock Jesse immobile long enough to retrieve him. 

Instead of running back to meet them, they saw Jesse run off in the opposite direction and disappear into the storm. 

“Shit,” Ana exhales, quickly unbolting her rifle. “We need to get back to the jet, _now_. We can’t keep up with him on foot, especially in these conditions.” 

Reyes puts away his shotgun and they run as quickly as they could back. No matter how fast they went with the adrenaline pumping through them, it didn’t matter in the end so long as the storm continued. They couldn’t fly in this condition. They had no choice but to wait it out.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Reyes shouts, ripping off his mask and goggles and tossing it hard against the wall. “This was a mistake. Jesse was right, we shouldn’t have forced him to do this.” 

“Stop it Gabe,” Ana says when Reyes punches the wall. “Injuring yourself isn’t going to help Jesse. We still have the tracker on him. It’s moving, which means he hasn’t ripped it out. Yet.” 

Reyes presses his forehead hard against the cool metal wall. The hostages could go to hell for all he cared now. He would rather lose them than Jesse. What was he thinking when he came up with this idea?

Ana spies a white edge poking from the corner of Jesse’s clothes. It was hidden underneath the red scarf she gave him. The light cotton was getting frayed around the edges. She would need to get him something else to replace it with—if she didn’t, Jesse would wear it till it was nothing but spools of thread, and she wasn’t going to let him walk around looking like a beggar.

She pinches the corner, pulls out a photo, and instantly regrets it. There was nothing indecent about it, but that didn’t stop Ana from feeling like she stumbled across Jesse’s secret porn stash. 

“What’s that?” Reyes says from over her shoulder. 

Ana lifts up the photo higher for him to see. “Since when does Jesse have a fetish for imperious oriental models with ornate tats?” She asks. 

“Fuck me, not _him_ ,” Reyes says, instantly recognizing the man. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Put that away, Ana.”

Ana puts it away, but not where she found it. Instead, she carefully places it in her coat pocket. “Handsome man. Not my type, but I can see the appeal. Who is he?”

“Someone I told Jesse to stop associating with over a year ago,” Reyes grumbles. “I don’t remember his name, but what I do remember is that he’s the heir of the Shimada Clan.”

“The _yakuza_ Shimada Clan?” Ana says, her brows raised high in surprise. “They’ve always been the most prominent gang in Japan, but recently they’ve been making waves in their expansion efforts. It’s something we definitely have been keeping an eye on.” 

“Which doesn’t change the fact that Jesse _lied_ to me about not seeing him anymore,” Reyes growls. 

Ana masked her shock relatively quickly. “My daughter left for the Egyptian army several months ago, and no matter what I said, I could not stop her,” she says. 

“Fareeha is as stubborn as you are,” Reyes says. “She made it obvious since she was a little girl that all she wants to do is fight beside her mother.” 

“That is not the life I want for her though,” Ana says, remembering with a sharp ache how much it hurt when Fareeha told her what she had done and it was too late to stop it. “But did you know that she talked to Jesse prior to enlisting?” 

No, Reyes was not aware of that. “Jesse and Fareeha have always had a close bond. It's not surprising,” Reyes admits. 

“It was irrational, but for a short period I was angry with Jesse for not talking her out of it, for actively encouraging her,” Ana says. Her fury was not to be taken lightly and Jesse was more than terrified when he saw her again. “But then he said something to me I’ll never forget. They were wise words that came from another.” 

“And what was that?” Reyes asks, feeling calmer now. The storm was abating, the continuous clinking of rock and sand against the jet lessening. They would be able to move out soon. 

“He told me he heard a father tell his son that all parents must trust in their children in the end,” Ana says. Those words instantly took the angry winds out of her sails, so startling it was to come out of Jesse’s mouth. “The son made a decision that the father greatly disagreed with, but the father realized his son was following his heart and it would be selfish of him to interfere.” 

Reyes knew with near absolute certainty where Jesse got that from. It seemed that Gotoh was a very discreet man, because never did he so much as even hint that he was aware of Jesse’s relationship with his eldest. 

“So are you going to reconcile with Fareeha?” 

Ana gives a derisive snort. “You’re right Gabe, I am stubborn. Maybe too stubborn for my own good. I still stand by my original stance that what Fareeha is doing is not good for her, but,” she says, smoothing out the wrinkle in Jesse’s red scarf, “I won’t meddle in her affairs like I did when she tried applying for Overwatch.” 

Both turned their eyes to the holographic topographical map overlaid with the latest weather readings. The sandstorm was finally passing them over; they were no longer in the center, but on the fringes. 

But more importantly, the tracking device they had on Jesse was moving again, the small red blip moving swift across the map. Towards them. 

“He’s coming back,” Ana says with relief. Reyes rushed to loop on his respirator and slap on his goggles. He wouldn’t need the shield. 

Just in case, Ana brings her rifle with her. The wolf was a tricky creature. She won’t use the syringe unless she absolutely had to. 

Ana and Gabe met with the wolf a quarter of the mile away from the transport. Only light bits of dust floated in the air, still tinting the world a burnished sepia. At least visibility was much better. 

In the distance they could see wolf’s dark shape. As they closed the distance, they saw his mask and goggles were long gone, as was the comm device clipped onto his ear. Only the now defunct EMP device remained around his neck, like a thin metal collar. His claws all the way up to his wrists were rust color stained, and so was his snout. 

“Jesse,” Reyes calls out to him, and rips off the mask. “Jesse!” He shouts. 

The wolf turns to look at them, golden eyes glinting with a supernatural glow, stark against the pitch black sclera. It bares its bloodstained fangs. 

Ana opens and closes the breech of her rifle to ensure the vial was unlocked and loaded. She slings it over her shoulder. 

“Jesse,” she calls out with forced calmness. “I have something for you. Will you come here?” She brings out the photo from her coat pocket and holds it up for him to see. 

The wolf cautiously lopes forward. “Here,” Ana says, unmoved from her spot. Let the wary wolf come to her. She holds the picture out so that it was facing upright for him. 

Those eyes stared at the tattooed man. “Haaan...zo,” the wolf keens. 

“That’s right. Hanzo.” Reyes says. “Don’t you want to see him again?” 

“I...caaan?” The wolf says, and takes the photo from Ana’s grasp. He gently cradles it in his palms, careful to not damage it with his razor sharp claws. 

“Yeah, you’ll see him again,” Reyes forces himself to say. “Doesn’t he want to see you too?” 

“Haaanzoo,” the wolf says, the words coming out easier now. “Daaarlin’.” 

“Change back,” Reyes commands. “If not for us, at least for him.” He remembers clearly that event two years ago when the Shimada boy made Jesse come back when he couldn’t. 

The bones in the wolf’s back snap in half. The transformation back into a man was just as grotesque as the other way around, but it was easier to shrink than the grow. There were no grunts of pain. Throughout the entire change, not once did the wolf let go of the photo, its hands open and gentle despite the shifting of reformed bones, until finally it was Jesse once more, as naked as the day he was born, but with dried flakes of blood coating his face and hands. 

Ana rushed forward, slipped off her coat, and edged it around his crouched form. Jesse sets the photo aside, turns away, and gags. 

Ana keeps his hair back as Jesse retches, bloodied bile and bits of red flesh splattering wetly onto the earth. 

“I might have eaten the last guy a little bit,” Jesse gasps out weakly. He was green around the edges. “This is some cannibal Hannibal shit right here.” He groans, his throat working, as he heaves once more until his stomach contents were completely emptied. 

Ana knew how precious the photo was to Jesse and she immediately pocketed it as soon as Jesse began. She brushes Jesse’s sweaty hair from his forehead and pushes him up with Reyes’ assistance. “There’s water on the ship,” she says. “Let’s go home.”

 

\---

 

On the transport, Ana and Reyes debated on whether to head back to the Geneva base or to take Jesse to Angela in the neighboring country of Saudi Arabia. 

“Home,” Jesse had rasped weakly from the back, now properly dressed and somewhat cleaned, but huddled tight on the seat, still looking green around the gills. “I want to go home.” 

Home was a debatable definition now of what he meant by that, but it was agreed that he didn’t seem like he wanted any healing. Ana took over the flight as Reyes moved to the back and forced Jesse to continue slow sipping water from the canteen. 

“You did good, _mijo_ ,” Reyes says, crouched besides Jesse. “The job is done. I won’t ever make you do this again. _Lo prometo_.” He crosses his heart. “Cross my heart and hope to—”

“—Don’t finish that sentence,” Jesse interrupts, hollow eyed and stretched thin. The wolf still lingered closely beneath his skin. “There’s enough death to last me for a while. I don’t want yours.”

Jesse brings up his knees and hides his face in it. He no longer looked like a strapping and confidant twenty-seven year old man, but instead a frightened child, lost and confused. 

_I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life taking you in_ , Reyes nearly says aloud, but swallows it forcefully back down. He was familiar with the clenching sensation of heartbreak courtesy of Jack, but this one was different and felt infinitely worse. He didn’t even know where to begin to fix this wound between them. 

The white corner of the returned photo peaks dangerously from Jesse’s limp hand. 

\---

_Brittle bone snapping beneath his teeth. The rich taste of marrow. Wet muscle parting between his claws. The salty-sweet taste of fear and death and blood. The wolf was ravenous. It wanted more._

Jesse’s eyes snap wide open and he runs to the bathroom, crashes onto the cold tiled floor, and heaves into the porcelain bowl. Nothing but spittle and bitter bile. His stomach has been emptied out for days now.

The light turns on and a warm hand rubs soothing circles against his back. 

“That is the second time this night,” Hanzo says and pulls Jesse away from the toilet. He sits Jesse down on the closed lid and runs a warm towel to dab at Jesse’s mouth. “Was it the same dream?” 

“Yeah,” Jesse says, pushing his face into Hanzo’s chest. His scent was comforting and the sudden wave of nausea receded. 

Hanzo led Jesse back into the bedroom of their suite. The hotel suite was the fanciest room Jesse had ever stayed in. The large glass windows overlooked the glittering urban city with all the lights of the skyscrapers shining like multi-colored stars in the sky. 

Hanzo had picked Jesse from the Hong Kong International Airport earlier in the day. He had to cancel one of the important meetings and had cited ‘personal emergency’ as an excuse, but Jesse mattered more than the ruffled feathers of some hot shot triad leader. 

Hanzo had trouble sleeping the last few days as he waited anxiously for Jesse’s call, the comm line constantly on him during the day and settled on the bed beside him at night. In his desperate moments, he called every few hours, but each time the other side remained silent. When Jesse finally did call, Hanzo demanded he come by, and surprisingly Jesse said yes. 

His overseeing commander was giving him an early leave, two full months in fact, for recovery. That was the longest Jesse was ever given thus far. 

Jesse had sounded sick over the comm line, and when Hanzo finally saw him at the airport waiting lobby twenty-two hours later, he saw how much worse it actually was. 

He looked haggard and gaunt, like he had been starved. He was an exceptionally tall man, especially by eastern standards, and stood a head taller than all the people milling around him. Jesse drew plenty of stares and backward whispers as people automatically flowed around him, giving him a wide berth. 

Jesse spotted him immediately, and his eyes were so full of longing and pain that Hanzo ran and crashed into him for a crushing embrace. Hanzo did not care whose gaze fell on them. He gripped Jesse by the face and brought him down for a searing kiss. The kiss channeled all those long days of waiting, fretting if Jesse was still alive, unanswered questions if he would ever see him again, and now he was finally here, warm and present, his to keep safe. 

Hanzo’s guards waiting in the back shot Jesse curious sidelong glances as their boss led this tall _gaijin_ by the hand, his ratty black duffle bag slung over his shoulder. What a clashing sight they made. 

Hanzo wanted desperately to pull the answers out of Jesse, what happened, the how and whys, and this time he would not take no for an answer, even if Jesse became angry. But there were more important matters to take care of first before that—and that was the problem of nourishment. 

Jesse admittedly ate nothing on his long flight to Hong Kong, and practically nothing in the days prior. He had subsisted solely on water, whisky and his cigarillos. 

Hanzo was not blind to the events of the world, though his concern was primarily Asia centered. It was also difficult to miss the news when it was broadcasted on every international channel. 

_“Act of God or the Devil?”_ Was the leading headline. The Yemen hostage crisis was over after ten full days. The remaining hostages were rescued by the Yemeni military when there were no signs of rebel activity and satellite images caught the recognized faces of some of the hostages wandering around the complex unescorted. 

The bodies of the rebels were found partially buried in the dust storm that swept the entire Arabian peninsula. All looked like they were mauled by some kind of wild creature, and not a single one remained alive to tell the tale. Many died with their faces contorted in fear. Those were the words of some of the rescued hostages before they were quickly swept away from the cameras and microphones of the eager reporters. 

Eighty-five corpses accounted for; a massacre in one night under the veil of the sandstorm. No group had come forward to claim responsibility as of yet. Upon questioning, Overwatch made an official statement of its uninvolvement, but Hanzo knew the truth. 

It was a difficult task getting Jesse to eat anything and keep it down. Hanzo had some minor success with miso soup and a small bowl of plain congee, though both were vomited shortly after. The smell of meat instantly made him ill, and Hanzo kept himself to a strictly vegetarian diet for Jesse’s ease and comfort. It was day five of Jesse’s fast, and Hanzo could see his ribs growing stark. 

Forcing food down Jesse’s gullet would do no one any good. His appetite was too severely diminished and most, if not all, would come right back up. He did allow Hanzo, however, to feed him a few small pieces of bread and kept it down the other day, which was an improvement. It gave Hanzo an idea. 

Jesse woke when there was a light knock at the door and Hanzo went to answer it. He felt hollow still, and his eyes gritty and swollen from too many days of restless sleep. Hanzo himself was looking more than a bit tired, and Jesse felt a pang of guilt. Just because he was suffering from insomnia and nightmares didn’t mean Hanzo had to as well. 

He should leave Hanzo be. Let him go to his important business meetings, let him sleep. There were a lot of things he should do, but he wasn’t going to. Hanzo’s presence, his scent and warmth and voice, was a salve that eased him considerably. He wasn’t ready to give that up. 

The smell of food hit him and Jesse groaned, burying his face against the pillow. His stomach gurgled. No thank you, it said. Nearly everything he put in his mouth tasted metallic or like mushy ash. 

Hanzo walked over and there was a clink of the tin tray set on the fancy woodwork bedside table. 

“Sit up,” Hanzo commands, and rolls Jesse over. He pushes the plush pillows up against the headboard and maneuvers Jesse into a sitting position against it. Hanzo disrobes and seats himself on Jesse’s lap. 

“Woah there,” Jesse says when Hanzo straddles him out of the blue. Completely nude too. “As much as I love the idea of you riding me, I don’t think I can get it up right now.” 

“Hush,” Hanzo says, silencing him with a finger on his lips. It was sticky. Jesse automatically licks it and is hit with a mellow sweet taste. 

“Honey?” Jesse asks, cleaning off Hanzo’s finger. It wasn’t bad. Pretty good actually, his mind amends, when Hanzo dips his finger into a small honey jar and places it in Jesse’s eager mouth. 

Jesse will swear up and down for the rest of his life that Hanzo had the sexiest bedroom eyes he’s ever seen. Those dark eyes scorched him to the core as they watched his tongue slide wetly along those long fingers. 

“More?” Hanzo asks, reaching to the side. Jesse nodded, unable to get his voice to work properly. 

He moaned when instead of placing it in his mouth, Hanzo pressed the sticky substance against his own collarbone. Jesse leaned forward and latched his mouth there, cleaning it off quickly. There was a stirring sensation in his belly, something warm and pleasant. 

Hanzo leans back and places a large drop of honey on his nipple, right below the pectoral dragon tattoo. Jesse surges forward and licks that too, sucking and rubbing the nub between his tongue and teeth. His hands automatically reached for Hanzo’s hips and squeezed. 

Both were breathing heavily now, and Jesse realized with suddenness how hard he was, his length pressing up against the cleft of Hanzo’s pert ass. Hanzo was hard too, his cock fully risen. Jesse watched with fascination as Hanzo reached over once more to scoop up a generous amount of honey, and smeared the sticky liquid all over the tip of his cock. 

The sight of that made Jesse absolutely _ravenous_ , the sensation of hunger dulled for so many days now returning full force. 

Jesse growls and pushes Hanzo back and down against the bed, practically jumping onto his cock. The sweet taste of the honey mixed with the salty tang of pre-cum was heavenly, and Jesse groaned loudly as he lapped it up. 

Hanzo’s hitched moans and his gyrating hips struggling against the sheets was the finest music, and Jesse wanted more. Jesse relaxes his throat and plunges down deep. 

“Ahh!” Hanzo throws his head back as he was suddenly swallowed down to the root without warning, the hot throat convulsing around his entire cock. It was gut-wrenchingly amazing, and he couldn’t stop the embarrassing noises forced out of him. His fingers gripped Jesse’s hair and weakly attempted to pry him off, but his wolf was having none of that. Jesse shook him off, placed his hands underneath Hanzo’s knees, lifted his bottom half off the bed, and took him deeper down.

Jesse was demonstrating his lack of gag reflex in full, his throat pulsating around Hanzo’s cock, drawing out more and more of those wet ragged sounds. Jesse’s fingers pressing hard against Hanzo’s hole was the tipping point. Hot liquid spurted down his throat, and he swallowed it all, milking Hanzo for all he was worth. Hanzo thrashed as he came, but Jesse kept him steady until Hanzo collapsed weakly against the bed. 

“That was good,” Jesse slurs thickly, his throat still coated with cum. He licks at Hanzo’s softening cock, chasing away any hints of release left. Unfortunately there was no more honey to be found. 

“Are you still hungry?” Hanzo asks from his sprawled position, still stunned and slowly recovering from the intensity of his orgasm. This was not what he initially had in mind, but Jesse’s pleased expression, like the cat got the cream, was all that mattered. 

“If you’re going to keep feeding me like this, then I don’t think I’ll ever stop being hungry,” Jesse purrs, feeling a bit more like himself now. He realized that he was still hard, but shook his head when Hanzo reached out for it. He laid himself on top of Hanzo, who welcomed him with open arms. 

Hanzo presses a firm kiss against Jesse’s temple. “Will you join me for breakfast?” He asks. 

“Oh, so was this just the appetizer then?” Jesse rumbles with amusement, snuffling at Hanzo’s neck. The scent of the storm was strongest there, and there were times where Jesse wanted nothing more than to roll around in it. Like now. 

“I will make it worth your while,” Hanzo promises. Jesse reluctantly lifts himself off of Hanzo. Hanzo shakily slips his robe back on, and beckons Jesse to the small dining table at the other end of the sweeping suite. 

Hanzo removes a pillow cushion from the settee and places it between his feet when he sits down on the wooden chair. Jesse moves and settles himself on it, leaning back into Hanzo with his knees bracketing him. 

Hanzo lifts the covered food tray on the table, and the smell of food makes Jesse’s mouth water. Yeah, I think I’m ready to eat now, his stomach rumbles to him. 

Something white with a purplish tint to it is put it into his mouth. The taste was salty, a bit oily, but delicious. He swallows and waits. It stays down. 

“What’s that you’re feeding me?” Jesse asks after swallowing another proffered bite. 

“Radish cake,” Hanzo replies, breaking off another piece of the soft dish. “After this, there are some fish balls and steamed shrimp dumplings. Do you believe it will sit well with you?” 

Jesse chases Hanzo’s retreating finger. “Yeah, I think I’ll manage.” 

Hanzo was glad to see his appetite return with gusto. They shared the meal between them; for every bite Hanzo took, two was given to Jesse. The dishes were cleared quickly with Jesse consuming the majority of it. He even accepted a hot cup of chrysanthemum tea to wash it all down. Much improved. 

 

\----

 

This vicious cycle between them was growing tedious, but hell if it didn’t make his body glow with exhausted satisfaction. Gabe leaned over and reached for his pants previously tossed on the floor. 

“So what did you do to bring down the inspection of the S.E.P. on our heads?” Jack asks. He rucks up the soiled sheets and tosses it in the corner. Laundry would have to be done later. 

“Why do you think I had something to do with it?” Gabe says, zipping up his pants.

“Can you turn down the snark and be honest with me just for once?” Jack says, years of exasperation bursting forth like a broken dam. “We used to be good. What happened to us, Gabe?”

Gabe stops dressing, his back turned to Jack still. “Somewhere down the line you became the strike commander and forgot what it’s like to get your feet dirty.”

Jack sits up and turns Gabe around with force. Gabe gives him a baleful glare, his fists clenched. Just a moment ago they had fucked each other’s brains out, and now they were going to brawl it out like hormonal teenage boys? 

“I didn’t ask for my position,” Jack says, seething. “It was given to me and I made the best out of the situation. You don’t think I did everything I could to include you? Who was it that refused to be my second-in-command?”

“I’m not anyone’s second,” Gabe growls, and violently puts on his shirt. “Ana was better suited for the role anyway.”

“If Ana heard you say that, she’d shoot you in the ass and I’d just stand back and laugh,” Jack says. It was obviously not the right thing to say because Gabe’s face shutters down like a gate. “Gabe, stop. Wait.” He says and grabs him by the arm. It flexes underneath his grip, and Jack knew he had thirty seconds to speak his mind before Gabe ran out of patience and stomped out like he always did. 

From the corner of his eye he sees the flat holoscreen with a figure of someone highly recognizable speaking. It was a habit from bygone days to leave the news channel on even when he wasn’t watching it. 

“Volume increase one-hundred percent,” he commands. 

The room instantly fills with sound. 

“—don’t know who it was, or whatever it was, but if you’re out there, _thank you_ ,” the woman says, tears running down her pretty face. “The conditions were terrible, and once they started killing us one by one...it was almost like a game. If help did not arrive any sooner, I don’t think any of us would be alive today,” her voice breaks. 

“Who’s that?” Gabe asks, squinting. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place who it was. 

“That is Annette Martinique, the Secretary of Defense’s sister,” Jack points out. 

“Televid off,” Gabe commands. The screen turns black. He didn’t want to see her face now that he knew who she was. 

“Gabe,” Jack says, his hand moving down to grip Gabe’s fingers, the action unexpectedly gentle. It made Gabe’s hand tingle. “Please. If you won’t tell me what you’re doing to make the military backers of the S.E.P. suddenly turn their eyes on us, will you at least tell me if the Yemen hostage rescue was your doing? Don’t think I didn’t notice the small carrier jet signed off by you.” 

Gabe allows Jack to lead him back to the bed, and they both sit heavily down on it, side-by-side. 

“I’ll tell you about one of them,” Gabe says and at Jack’s hopeful gaze he hastily amends, “but on one condition.” 

There was always some kind of catch with Gabe, but this was the closest he’ll ever get to finding out even the semblance of truth. Gabe was good at keeping secrets, and it was futile to pull it out of him through force. The scars on his face and chest attested to that. He was captured long ago, and when Jack had led the rescue mission, Gabe had already executed his tormentors, though not before the damage had already been done. Torture was nothing new to him, both on the giving and receiving end. 

“What’s the condition?” Jack asks warily. 

“Take Agent McCree with you on missions,” Gabe says. “He’ll still be my agent, but I want him to be involved with more Overwatch-related tasks.”

That takes Jack visibly aback. Of all the things Gabe could demand, that was it? It was utterly baffling. 

“Deal,” Jack says. McCree would be a good asset to missions. He had already more than demonstrated his skill, though perhaps his field independence would have to be curbed to fit in with the team. “Now to uphold your end of the bargain.” 

“Yes, the bargain,” Gabe says disdainfully. “What do you know of the S.E.P. we both underwent?”

“That it’s still a highly classified military project, and that the goal is to create a new class of super soldiers,” Jack rattles off. “You and I are the fruits of that.” 

“And the others?” Gabe presses. 

Jack’s brows furrow. “I don’t know too much about the others. We were all kept apart. I mean, the only reason we knew about each other at all there was because you and I were...you know, prior to even being chosen.” 

Gabe sighs and rubs his scalp. He would need a haircut soon. The natural waves in his hair was starting to show. “You and I are actually the only ones left from the program. The project was abandoned sometime after we left.” 

“When you say ‘left’...?”

“I mean alive,” Gabe snaps. “There was one other, but she was terminated shortly after I visited her.”

“Terminated?” Jack asks, alarmed. “How do you know she was killed?” 

“I just know, Jack,” Gabe says harshly. “You should have seen the condition she was in. You weren’t the only affiliation I knew prior to the S.E.P. They strapped her down in a fucking mental asylum with twenty-four hour armed security.”

“Gabe, back it up a bit here. Are you telling me that there’s some kind of conspiracy going on leading back to that program?” Jack says. 

“I’m saying that they’re hiding something, and that the details of that should directly concern us,” Gabe says. “I haven’t figured it all out yet, but I have some working theories. When have I been wrong?” 

Plenty of times, Jack almost says waspishly, considering the current state of their relationship. But mission and job-related calls? Not so much. 

“I see it in your face. You think I’m crazy,” Gabe says. 

“I don’t,” Jack protests. “I just need more evidence before I’m ready to believe it. The program was so many years ago. Why now?”

“Maybe because the effects of whatever they pumped into us is starting to show and they’re afraid of what we might do,” Gabe says. “They don’t want to lose control of us.” There were minute tremors in his tightly clenched fist. Jack could see the bruised knuckles. 

“Why don’t you take that to Angela and have her fix it up?” He asks, pointing at the injury. Gabe relaxes his hands and looks at it curiously, as if he forgot it was there. 

“It’s a reminder,” Gabe says and doesn’t elaborate. “I’ll let you know if I find out more. Okay?”

Jack sees the metaphorical olive branch held out—he just never expected it would be Gabe holding the other end. “I’d appreciate that,” Jack says, filled with weak hope. Maybe they could make this work after all. They had to start somewhere. 

 

\----

 

“Leave Overwatch, or Blackwatch. Both. Whatever you are in, you must leave,” Hanzo says with adamant force. Jesse had just finished recounting the events in Yemen and Hanzo was _furious_. The absolute gall and carelessness to demand Jesse to do such a thing in Yemen was unforgivable in Hanzo’s eyes. 

“And go where?” Jesse says, exhausted. He knew Hanzo was doing this because he cared, but it was a pointless argument. “If I bail, I highly doubt they’re just gonna brush it off as a MIA, no questions asked. I’m a criminal offender, darlin’. There’s a high lock-up cell out there with my name scrawled on it.”

“I could protect you,” Hanzo says, though as soon as those words left his mouth, he knew it was a full-hearted lie. 

Jesse shoots him an incredulous look. “I appreciate the sentiment darlin’, but you and I both know what would happen. Overwatch is pretty damn good at finding people, especially someone on the records like me. And no country will knowingly harbor a foreign fugitive,” he reasons. 

Hanzo had no answer to that because what Jesse spoke was true. Even with all the politicians deep in the Shimada-gumi’s pocket, that still would not protect Jesse if Overwatch came pounding at the doors. And what loyalty would Japan have to a man that was not even their own citizen?

None, was the unhelpful answer his mind supplied. Formal annexation attempts would be dutifully honored. And Hanzo knew that unless Jesse was kept shuttered away in the castle for the rest of his days, that eventually anyone looking for him will find him wandering in Hanamura. He never wanted Hanamura to become a prison for Jesse, even if it meant that they would be together. 

“Jesse,” Hanzo beckons over. Jesse blew smoke out the open window that overlooked the clean lines of Seoul’s business district. He takes another deep puff and puts out his cigarillo on the sill. Hanzo wrinkles his nose. He’d have to wipe away the burn mark later. 

His gunslinging cowboy folds himself onto the floor and pushes his face into the crook of Hanzo’s neck—his favorite spot. Hanzo holds him there and brushes his hair. 

“There’s still something that you are not telling me. You’ve mentioned before that you and the wolf are the same, yet it does not seem so. What is the link?” Hanzo asks against his hair. 

Jesse rubs his bristly face harder against Hanzo’s neck and does not answer. The dragons push beneath his skin. _Tell him_ , they croon, _it is time_. Hanzo hesitates, but forces the words out. “One of the most frightening moments in my life were the dragons I summoned two years ago,” he offers, a confession that had been hidden in his heart since the onset. 

Jesse remained silent, but he was obviously listening. It was an unexpected turn of events to finally get an answer about that mystery; he had expected Hanzo to keep pushing him instead. 

“It took me a long time to find out why it terrified me so, and I think it was the realization that it was not me that brought them forth, but you,” Hanzo says. 

“Me?” Jesse scoffs. “What did I do?” 

“The dragons thrive on death, and in the past that was what I’ve used to strengthen their spirits,” Hanzo says. “The day you lost your arm,” he taps at the cybernetic replacement, “you bathed them in your sacrifice and blood, and from that they rose. All I had to do was point them in the right direction, but it was you that brought them to life.” Hanzo’s hand tightens on the metal wrist. “Prior to that they were always ethereal creatures, phantoms of a bygone era, but the dragons that day were made of flesh and blood. It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before,” he says. 

“And it was specifically tied to me?” Jesse asks. “If it was someone else that did that for you, would the same thing have happened?”

“I don’t know,” Hanzo says truthfully, “but I suspect not. To guide their fangs, the dragons also require a projectile to break through the veil that separates our world from theirs. The more familiar they are with the weapon used for such an act, the simpler it is to pierce through.” His hand leaves Jesse’s metal arm and squeezes his side where Peacemaker was normally holstered. “Shortly after you were taken away, I tried replicating the situation the best I could, but to no avail. They had no attachment to the various guns I used, and refused my summons.”

“So are you saying your dragons like me?” Jesse says, injecting a note of humor into this somber discussion. 

“They are...protective of you. I would even go so far as to say fond,” Hanzo admits. His breath catches in his throat when Jesse slips off the left shoulder of his robe and places firm affectionate kisses against the tattoos. 

“It might be a little late to tell them this then, but thank you for saving me. For saving us,” he whispers. Jesse didn’t know if they heard him or if they understood, but his lips tingled numbly from the contact against Hanzo’s skin. 

_Ours, ours, ours,_ the dragons sing, pleased and content. It was not unlike the sensation of when they had sated their appetite on souls. Perhaps Jesse’s soul, as both and neither wolf and man, drew them closer to the surface. 

“You have been marked by the dragons,” Hanzo says, pressing his thumb against Jesse’s soft lips. “That is not something to be taken lightly.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to tell me about this?” Jesse asks. 

“Partially,” Hanzo admits. “I do not know the full implications of this. Although the dragons have been present in my line since the beginning, they are still creatures unto their own. They may have more abilities than what is made apparent.”

“And the other reason?”

“I…,” Hanzo trails off. “You must understand how important the dragons are in legitimizing the Shimada-gumi. The only one who can sway the dragons are those of the Shimada line. Genji can change the flow of mine, just as I can manipulate his to a certain extent. But you are not—” 

“—a Shimada. I got that,” Jesse finishes for him. “And if anyone ever found out about this and made some undesirable conclusions out of it, it might make you all seem weak. Appearance is everything, am I right?” 

Hanzo remained silent, but his heart said it all. As it always did, and as it always will. 

“I did not wish to offend you,” Hanzo says, averting his eyes. “You are not someone that I am ashamed of, and in an ideal world, we would not have to hide our relationship, what you are to me...” 

“Darlin’, stop,” Jesse says and bumps Hanzo on the head with his own. “I get it, okay? We do the best we can, and it wouldn’t be fair of me to be mad at you over this.” 

They share a kiss, sweet but tinged with the bitterness of knowing the threads they wore around their necks. They rearranged themselves into a familiar position, Hanzo’s smaller frame edged up against Jesse’s chest and between his spread thighs. “Do you remember your first kill?” Jesse asks.

“Of course,” Hanzo says. “The first always burns the brightest.” 

“How old were you?” 

“Sixteen,” Hanzo says, “I had surpassed one of my masters, and it was a dual that he did not survive.” 

“Damn, baby. Is that what happened to all your masters?” 

“Some, not all. It was an honorable death,” Hanzo says. 

Jesse did not understand in the slightest, but prying into that would lead the conversation astray to what he was trying to get at. 

“And how about you?” Hanzo asks. 

“Fourteen. Not too long after ma died,” Jesse says, twirling the smooth silky tendrils of Hanzo’s long hair between his fingers. “It was also the first time I ever shifted into the full wolf. Scared the shit out of me.” Unconsciously his hand began to braid Hanzo’s hair. It was a familiar motion even though he hadn’t done it in years. Fareeha used to love it as a young girl until she grew out of it and cut her hair short in teenage rebellion—and that was when he suddenly became the neutral ground between Ana and Fareeha. 

“Ma did the best she could to raise me as a single parent. Ma was no wolf, but _abuelita_ was, though she died before she could tell me anything about it. My father was some gringo who fucked off long before I was born, maybe because he found out about the wolf lineage or maybe he was just a flakey bastard, but it doesn’t really matter in the end. Either way, we weren’t usually strapped with cash and there were some lean days we had to go through, but it didn’t matter none to me. I don’t recall what ma looked like anymore, but I remember she always smelled like quince. We couldn’t afford a televid, even second hand, so once a month when she had enough to spare, she would take me to the penny theater. I always loved those old western films they showed, those bad-ass cowboys larger than life, playing in a field bigger than the streets I grew up in. _You see, in this world there's two kinds of people, my friend: Those with loaded guns and those who dig. You dig_ ,” he imitates the film quote perfectly. 

Hanzo could imagine it clearly, his wolf as still a young pup, in an impoverished community with a hardworking mother who did her best despite the conditions. So different from his own life. His only worry as a child was Genji and keeping him out of trouble. Meals were consistent and of the highest quality, the best tutors were always available and even competed amongst each other for the honor of teaching the young Shimada heirs, and he slept content and at ease with the secure knowledge of having a powerful father shielding him and Genji from harm. 

“When ma died from a stray bullet, “ he mimes a shot to the brain, “by the _cholos_ that couldn’t aim for shit, the debt collectors didn’t waste time repossessing the house and auctioning it off. I had nothing to my name and no family to take me in. Just some clothes, a bit of pocket change, and my street smarts to get me through.” 

“You did not go to an orphanage?” Hanzo asks. 

“I did at first, because that’s where the police took me. But what a godawful miserable hole that was. I was too old to get along with the littler ones, but also too strong and fast to get along with the older lads who wanted nothing more than to beat my ass,” Jesse bares his teeth, vicious-like. “I didn’t let no one push me around. If they shoved, I shoved back harder and made them regret it. The poor nun who ran the place thought I was the devil in disguise, and I did her a favor by running off on my own.”

Jesse releases the messy braid and it unravels beneath his fingers. Hanzo reaches for Jesse’s arms to wrap around him. He didn’t know what to say. He had no common ground with what Jesse had gone through, and he feared that any comment he made would only come off as condescending and highlight their disparate backgrounds. 

“I was homeless for a few months, begging here and there and stealing when I couldn’t gather enough money to afford a cheap meal—this was way before I got involved with the Deadlock Gang and earned my way through hit jobs. I saw a lot of dark stuff in my wanderings, things that people try to pretend like it don’t exist,” he says, tensing up. “Know what it’s like to talk to a girl on the street, a year or two older than I was then, hustling her ass? Her mom put her there, surrendered her to the local pimp and let the dirty old men have their way with her on filthy stained mattresses. And she wasn’t the only one.” 

Hanzo felt ill. It explained Jesse’s strong reaction towards the man he assassinated a year prior. 

“I went to the police to report it, but they already knew about it. They just didn’t care. It didn’t directly concern them because no one made a big hoo-haw about it, and the pimp running the underage sex ring was not only discreet, but an ‘upstanding citizen’ who paid his taxes and went to church every Sunday with big fat donations,” Jesse sneered. “I couldn’t let that go.”

Jesse’s body shook with light tremors and Hanzo broke out of his grip to turn around and hold him, to steady him. “Finish your story,” he encourages. “Let me shoulder some of your burden.” 

“You’ve already noticed that I can be a good actor when I want to be. So I pretended to be a runaway kid, someone who desperately needed money and would do _anything_ to make a buck,” Jesse said. “That pimp had a preference for boys like me, vulnerable with ‘sweet lips that would look good around a fat piece of meat’,” he quoted. Hanzo was filled with disgust and wanted nothing more than to kill that wretched man himself, make it brutal and slow, but it was too late now. 

“I played coy, and manipulated him to take me to his home. I underestimated how wily that _pendejo_ was though, and he tried drugging me right away,” Jesse says, breaking into a cold sweat. “Drugs don’t work on me the same way it do on normal folks, but I was a kid then and my resistance wasn’t as good as it is now. When I came to, he was in the process of ripping off my clothes, and I _snapped_ ,” Jesse snarls. “I still remember it so clearly; the taste of his fear and pain was like heroin straight to the brain. Ma never told me much about the wolf but she made me remember this. _Abuelita_ always warned to never kill as the wolf, because once you start, you can’t ever stop. And she was right. I killed that _culo_ , painted his entire room red, and I’ve never stopped seeing red since.”

Jesse breathed heavily and Hanzo wiped away the sweat from his brow. His eyes were wide, the golden flecks growing larger. “Me and the wolf are one in the same, but my other side feels everything so much more intensely. Anger turns into fury, revenge into dark vengeance, and hunger into starvation. Have you ever drowned in your own emotions? I lost myself in Yemen. If one kill got me into a frenzy back then as a kid, imagine how it was there. I forgot myself, but you brought me right back,” Jesse says, cupping Hanzo’s sympathetic and concerned face. 

“How so?” Hanzo asks, staring deep into Jesse’s eyes. The golden color was rapidly diminishing as quickly as it had appeared, the flecks losing its luster. 

“It was the thought of you here, waiting for me. That you’re different too, completely out of this realm, and that you don’t see me as a monster,” he stutters to a halt as Hanzo brushes away the wetness beading at the corner of his eyes. He didn’t even realize that he was crying. “I’ve traded out so many families. Ma for the Deadlock gang, and the gang for Reyes and Ana. Considering my streak, I hope they aren’t cursed for death too,” he says, knuckling his eyes. “But you aren’t family. You’re something else, and god this sounds stupid, but maybe that means I stand a chance that you’ll actually stay for good.”

“Jesse,” Hanzo says, his heart in his mouth, and raises both of Jesse’s hands in his, kissing the hot flesh and cool metal surface. “Thank you for telling me. It does bring up another question, however. Do you fear your other side?” 

“That’s a complicated answer that I’m still figuring out myself,” Jesse says. “I am what I am, but with the wolf I’m more liable to lose control of myself, and that only happens when I’m doing something that heightens my emotions.” 

“Were you in control of yourself the day you lost your arm for me?” 

“I was,” Jesse says with confidence. “Saving you and keeping you safe was all that I could think of, and I think that kept my mind crystal clear.” 

Hanzo gathers and reviews his thoughts, and based on what he had observed in conjunction with what Jesse had revealed to him, he comes to a conclusion. “It is a rare event for you to shapeshift entirely, am I correct?”

Jesse nods. “Your ingenious mind come up with something, darlin’?” He asks. 

Hanzo nudges his shoulder. “Your incessant need to compliment me does not earn you extra rewards,” he says and smiles when Jesse puffs out his cheeks. “I would like to test something out when we finally head back to Hanamura.”

“Am I going to like it?” Jesse asks, unsure. 

“ _Keizoku wa chikara nari_ ,” Hanzo says. At Jesse’s confusion, he elaborates, “Just words of wisdom; power lies in continuation. The setbacks of the past should not halt your motion towards a better future. I intend to change that for you.” 

Jesse shoots him a look of pure admiration. “When you say it like that, I can’t help but believe you. You got that look like you’re going to change the world, whether it’s ready or not.” 

“Not the world,” Hanzo amends, scratching beneath Jesse’s chin affectionately. “Only the parts that matter the most.”


End file.
